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REPRESENTATIVE   BIOGRAPHIES 

OF 

ENGLISH    MEN    OF   LETTERS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •   BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
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TORONTO 


REPRESENTATIVE   BIOGRAPHIES 

OF 

ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS 


CHOSEN   AND   EDITED 

BY 
CHARLES   TOWNSEND   COPELAND 

LECTURER    ON    ENGLISH    LITERATURE    IN   HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 
AND 

FRANK  WILSON    CHENEY   HERSEY 

INSTRUCTOR   IN   ENGLISH   IN   HARVARD   UNIVERSITY 


gorfc 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1909 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1909, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  1909. 


J.  8.  Cushing-  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

THIS  collection  of  biographies  and  autobiographies  of  English 
men  of  letters  has  been  prepared  to  serve  various  purposes. 

It  is  primarily  designed  to  illustrate  the  varieties  of  biographical 
writing.  To  this  end,  it  includes:  first,  extracts  from  notable 
autobiographies,  among  which  are  those  of  Lord  Herbert  of  Cher- 
bury,  Colley  Gibber,  Gibbon,  and  Ruskin;  second,  examples  of 
the  method  and  style  of  such  famous  biographers  as  Izaak  Walton, 
Dr.  Johnson,  Boswell,  Lockhart,  Southey,  Macaulay,  and  Carlyle ; 
and  third,  many  complete  Lives  from  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  which  represent  the  work  of  the  most  accomplished  of 
modern  literary  historians. 

In  the  first  group,  the  selections  of  autobiography  exemplify 
both  formal  and  informal  records  of  life  and  character.  Here 
may  be  studied  such  types  as  the  diary,  the  letter,  the  reminiscence, 
and  the  memoir.  The  attention  of  students  should  be  called  to 
the  diversity  of  mood  and  style  inherent  in  these  types,  and  due  to 
the  moment  of  writing  and  the  author's  mental  attitude.  For 
the  study  of  these  differences,  Pepys's  Diary,  Swift's  Journal  to 
Stella,  Carlyle's  Reminiscences,  and  Gibbon's  Memoirs  offer  ex- 
cellent material.  Furthermore,  the  manner  and  degree  of  self- 
revelation  are  to  be  considered.  The  comparison  of  Lord  Her- 
bert's vainglorious  account  of  his  prowess,  or  of  Colley  Gibber's 
naive  avowal  of  vanity,  with  Ruskin's  reverent  narrative  of  his  great 
awakening  in  Italy  should  prove  highly  interesting. 

When  we  turn  to  the  second  group,  the  examples  of  the  work 
of  famous  biographers,  we  meet  new  phases  of  the  art  of  recording 
men's  lives.  Now,  the  shrewdness  with  which  the  author  has 
understood  his  hero,  the  justness  with  which  he  has  interpreted 
his  character,  the  skill  and  spirit  with  which  he  has  portrayed  his 
actions,  become  matters  of  fundamental  importance.  Here,  too, 

488622 


vi  '  PREFACE 

are  illustrated  the  various  elements  —  narrative,  dramatic,  de- 
scriptive, and  analytical  —  which  combine  to  make  good  biography. 
Students  should  note  the  use  of  narrative  in  Lockhart's  relation  of 
the  death  of  Scott,  and  the  use  of  dialogue  which  is  almost  pure 
drama  in  BoswelPs  scene  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Wilkes. 
Boswell,  again,  offers  a  striking  contrast  to  Izaak  Walton  in  this 
same  matter  of  dialogue.  Where  Boswell  is  most  triumphant, 
Walton  is  least  successful.  The  discourse  of  Sanderson  in  the 
tavern  (see  p.  165)  lacks  the  "sweet  persuasiveness  of  the  living 
and  naturally  cadenced  voice"  which  is  never  absent  from  the 
narrative  parts  of  Walton's  Lives.  But  in  Boswell  the  voice  of 
Johnson  is  indeed  the  vox  humana.  Finally,  the  analytical  ele- 
ment, illustrated  by  the  Character  of  Pope  at  the  end  of  Johnson's 
Life  of  that  poet,  may  be  contrasted  with  the  descriptive  element 
in  Macaulay's  picturesque  account  of  Fanny  Burney's  servitude 
at  Court. 

The  third  group  of  brief,  complete  biographies  of  men  whose 
lives  and  characters  are  interesting  for  their  own  sake  leads  to  the 
statement  of  a  second  purpose  of  this  book. 

It  is  expected,  indeed,  that  a  volume  including  not  only  selec- 
tions from  famous  biographies  and  autobiographies,  but  also  a 
large  number  of  Lives  reprinted  from  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  will  be  of  service  to  both  teachers  and  students  of 
English  Literature.  To  teachers  such  a  collection  will  suggest 
ways  of  enlivening  and  humanizing  the  study  of  literature  for  their 
pupils.  To  students  it  will  make  available  several  of  the  best 
Lives  in  a  great  work  not  conveniently  accessible  to  classes  of  even 
moderate  size.  In  this  practical  way,  it  will  furnish  material  which 
will  enable  them  to  study  the  relation  of  an  author's  life  and  his 
work.  How  close  is  the  relation  of  life  and  work,  students  some- 
times forget.  It  is  as  unreasonable  to  deem  a  book  exclusively  an 
isolated  entity  as  to  deem  it  exclusively  the  embodiment  of  a  move- 
ment. Books  "do  preserve  as  in  a  vial,"  said  Milton,  "  the  purest 
efficacy  and  extraction  of  that  living  intellect  that  bred  them." 
It  was  the  realization  of  this  human  background  of  literature  that 
led  Gibbon  to  say,  "  I  may  judge  from  the  experience  both  of  past 
and  of  the  present  times,  that  the  public  are  always  curious  to  know 
the  men  who  have  left  behind  them  any  image  of  their  minds: 


PREFACE  vil 

the  most  scanty  accounts  of  such  men  are  compiled  with  diligence, 
and  perused  with  eagerness.  ...  If  they  be  sincere,  we  seldom 
complain  of  the  minuteness  or  prolixity  of  these  personal  me- 
morials"; and  it  led  Dr.  Johnson  to  declare,  "The  biographical 
part  of  literature  is  what  I  love  most." 

The  arrangement  of  the  book  deserves  a  word  of  explana- 
tion. It  is  fitting  that  Carlyle's  energetic  essay  on  Biography 
should  stand  as  prologue  to  the  collection,  for  this  essay  not 
only  emphasizes  the  fact  that  "man  is  perennially  interesting 
to  man,"  but  it  insists  upon  the  "worth  that  lies  in  Reality"  as  the 
basis  of  all  good  biographical  writing.  In  order  to  suggest  various 
points  of  view  from  which  the  selections  may  be  regarded,  intro- 
ductory notes  are  prefixed  to  many  of  them.  These  notes  contain 
a  synopsis  of  the  author's  life  when  that  is  necessary  to  understand 
the  selection,  and  short  passages  from  the  essays  and  letters 
of  distinguished  critics.  Moreover,  the  selections  in  the  first  and 
second  groups  in  the  table  of  contents  are  arranged  chronologically, 
and  at  the  beginning  of  each  extract  is  given  the  date  of  publication 
or  —  if  a  considerable  time  elapsed  between  writing  and  publica- 
tion —  the  date  of  writing.  By  this  means,  one  may  trace  not 
only  the  development  of  biographical  methods,  but  the  progress  of 
English  narrative  style. 

Thanks  are  due  to  the  following  publishers  for  their  permission 
to  use  extracts  from  their  books :  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Harper  and  Brothers,  The  Macmillan 
Company,  and  Smith,  Elder  &  Company. 

F.  W.  C.  HERSEY. 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY, 
June  28,  1909. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE .        .        .  v 

BIOGRAPHY by  Thomas  Carlyle  I 

CHAPTERS  IN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY: 

Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury :    The  Fight -with  Sir  John  Ayr es    .         .  16 

Samuel  Pepys:  Extracts  from  the  Diary 23 

Jonathan  Swift :  Extracts  from  the  Journal  to  Stella        ...  40 

Colley  Gibber :  "  Talking  of  Himself '" 53 

Edward  Gibbon  :  At  Oxford 62 

My  Early  Love 71 

"  The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  "  .  73 

Thomas  Carlyle  :  Life  in  London 80 

Charles  Dickens :  Hard  Experiences  in  Boyhood    ....  96 

JohnRuskin:    The  Campo  Santo 115 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  :   Learning  to  Write          ....  127 

SELECTIONS  FROM  FAMOUS  BIOGRAPHERS: 

Izaak  Walton:    The  Life  of  Dr.  Robert  Sanderson          .         .         .130 

Samuel  Johnson :    The  Life  of  Pope          ......  182 

James  Boswell :    The  Meeting  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Wilkes         .         .261 

Robert  Southey :    The  Death  of  Nelson 272 

John  Gibson  Lockhart :    The  Death  of  Scott 281 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay :   Fanny  Bur ney  at  Court .         .         .  292 

Thomas  Carlyle  :    Torrijos  and  John  Sterling 310 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray :    Oliver  Goldsmith  .         .         .         .318 

LIVES  FROM  THE  Dictionary  of  National  Biography  ; 

Sir  Walter  Ralegh Sidney  Lee  330 

Sir  Philip  Sidney Sidney  Lee  373 

John  Bunyan .       Edmund  Venables  405 

Sir  Richard  Steele Austin  Dobson  425 

Samuel  Johnson Sir  Leslie  Stephen  439 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan Fraser  Rae  473 

Charles  Lamb Alfred  Ainger  487 

Lord  Byron Sir  Leslie  Stephen  501 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley Richard  Garnett  551 

Charles  Dickens Sir  Leslie  Stephen  569 

Robert  Browning    .......  Edmund  Gosse  595 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson Sidney  Colvin  623 


REPRESENTATIVE   BIOGRAPHIES 

OF 

ENGLISH    MEN    OF   LETTERS 


BIOGRAPHY 

THOMAS   CARLYLE 

[First  published  in  Fraser's  Magazine,  April,  1832.  Critical  and  Mis~ 
cellaneous  Essays.] 

MAN'S  sociality  of  nature  evinces  itself,  in  spite  of  all  that  can 
be  said,  with  abundant  evidence  by  this  one  fact,  were  there  no 
other:  the  unspeakable  delight  he  takes  in  Biography.  It  is 
written,  '  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man ; '  to  which  study,  / 
let  us  candidly  admit,  he,  by  true  or  by  false  methods,  applies 
himself,  nothing  loth.  'Man  is  perennially  interesting  to  man; 
nay,  if  we  look  strictly  to  it,  there  is  nothing  else  interesting/ 
\[How  inexpressibly  comfortable  to  know  our  fellow-creature;  to 
see  into  him,  understand  his  goings-forth,  decipher  the  whole 
heart  of  his  mystery:  nay,  not  only  to  see  into  him,  but  even  to 
see  out  of  him,  to  view  the  world  altogether  as  he  views  it;  so 
that  we  can  theoretically  construe  him,  and  could  almost  practi- 
cally personate  him;  and  do  now  thoroughly  discern  both  what 
manner  of  man  he  is,  and  what  manner  of  thing  he  has  got  to 
work  on  and  live  on !  J 

A  scientific  interest  and  a  poetic  one  alike  inspire  us  in  this 
matter.  A  scientific:  because  every  mortal  has  a  Problem  of 
Existence  set  before  him,  which,  were  it  only,  what  for  the  most 
it  is,  the  Problem  of  keeping  soul  and  body  together,  must  be  to 
a  certain  extent  original,  unlike  every  other;  and  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  so  like  every  other;  like  our  own,  therefore;  instructive, 
moreover,  since  we  also  are  indentured  to  live.  A  poetic  interest 
still  more:  for  precisely  this  same  struggle  of  human  Freewill 
against  material  Necessity,  which  every  man's  Life,  by  the  mere 
circumstance  that  the  man  continues  alive,  will  more  or  less  vic- 
toriously exhibit,  —  is  that  which  above  all  else,  or  rather  inclu- 
sive of  all  else,  calls  the  Sympathy  of  mortal  hearts  into  action; 


2  BIOGRAPHY 

and  whether  as  acted,  or  as  represented  and  written  of,  not  only 
is  Poetry,  but  is  the  sole  Poetry  possible.  Borne  onwards  by 
which  two  all-embracing  interests,  may  the  earnest  Lover  of  Biog- 
raphy expand  himself  on  all  sides,  and  indefinitely  enrich  him- 
self. Looking  with  the  eyes  of  every  new  neighbour,  he  can  dis- 
cern a  new  world  different  for  each:  feeling  with  the  heart  of 
every  neighbour,  he  lives  with  every  neighbour's  life,  even  as  with 
his  own.  Of  these  millions  of  living  men,  each  individual  is  a 
mirror  to  us ;  a  mirror  both  scientific  and  poetic ;  or,  if  you  will, 
both  natural  and  magical ;  —  from  which  one  would  so  gladly  draw 
aside  the  gauze  veil;  and,  peering  therein,  discern  the  image  of 
his  own  natural  face  and  the  supernatural  secrets  that  propheti- 
cally lie  under  the  same ! 

Observe,  "accordingly,  to  what  extent,  in  the  actual  course  of 
things,  this  business  of  Biography  is  practised  and  relished,  Define 
to  thyself,  judicious  Reader,  the  real  significance  of  these  phe- 
nomena, named  Gossip,  Egoism,  Personal  Narrative  (miraculous 
or  not),  Scandal,  Raillery,  Slander,  and  such  like;  the  sum-total 
of  which  (with  some  fractional  addition  of  a  better  ingredient, 
generally  too  small  to  be  noticeable)  constitutes  that  other  grand 
phenomenon  still  called  '  Conversation.'  Do  they  not  mean 
wholly:  Biography  and  Autobiography?  Not  only  in  the  com- 
mon speech  of  men;  but  in  all  Art  too,  which  is  or  should  be 
the  concentrated  and  conserved  essence  of  what  men  can  speak 
and  show,  Biography  is  almost  the  one  thing  needful. 

\J£ven  in  the  highest  works  of  Art,  our  interest,  as  the  critics 
complain,  is  too  apt  to  be  strongly  or  even  mainly  of  a  Biographic 
sort.  In  the  Art,  we  can  nowise  forget  the  Artist:  while  looking 
on  the  Transfiguration,  while  studying  the  Iliad,  we  ever  strive  to 
figure  to  ourselves  what  spirit  dwelt  in  Raphael;  what  a  head  was 
that  of  Homer,  wherein,  woven  of  Elysian  light  and  Tartarean 
gloom,  that  old  world  fashioned  itself  together,  of  which  these 
written  Greek  characters  are  but  a  feeble  though  perennial  copy. 
The  Painter  and  the  Singer  are  present  to  us;  we  partially  and 
for  the  time  become  the  very  Painter  and  the  very  Singer,  while 
we  enjoy  the  Picture  and  the  Song.  Perhaps  too,  let  the  critic 
say  what  he  will,  this  is  the  highest  enjoyment,  the  clearest  recog- 
nition, we  can  have  of  these.  Art  indeed  is  Art ;  yet  Man  also  is 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  3 

Man.  Had  the  Transfiguration  been  painted  without  human 
hand;  had  it  grown  merely  on  the  canvas,  say  by  atmospheric 
influences,  as  lichen-pictures  do  on  rocks,  —  it  were  a  grand 
Picture  doubtless;  yet  nothing  like  so  grand  as  the  Picture, 
which,  on  opening  our  eyes,  we  everywhere  in  Heaven  and  in 
Earth  see  painted;  and  everywhere  pass  over  with  indifference, 
—  because  the  Painter  was  not  a  Man.  J  Think  of  this;  much  lies 
in  it.  The  Vatican  is  great ;  yet  poor  to  Chimborazo  t>r  the  Peak 
of  Teneriffe :  its  dome  is  but  a  foolish  Big-endian  or  Little-endian 
chip  of  an  egg-shell,  compared  with  that  star-fretted  Dome  where 
Arcturus  and  Orion  glance  forever;  which  latter,  notwithstand- 
ing, who  looks  at,  save  perhaps  some  necessitous  stargazer  bent 
to  make  Almanacs;  some  thick-quilted  watchman,  to  see  what 
weather  it  will  prove?  The  Biographic  interest  is  wanting;  no 
Michael  Angelo  was  He  who  built  that  *  Temple  of  Immensity ; ' 
therefore  do  we,  pitiful  Littlenesses  as  we  are,  turn  rather  to  won- 
der and  to  worship  in  the  little  toybox  of  a  Temple  built  by  our 
like. 

Still  more  decisively,  still  more  exclusively  does  the  Biographic 
interest  manifest  itself,  as  we  descend  into  lower  regions  of  spirit- 
ual communication;  through  the  whole  range  of  what  is  called 
Literature.  Of  History,  for  example,  the  most  honoured,  if  not 
honourable  species  of  composition,  is  not  the  whole  purport  Bio- 
graphic? 'History/  it  has  been  said,  'is  the  essence  of  innumer- 
able Biographies.'  Such,  at  least,  it  should  be:  whether  it  is, 
might  admit  of  question.  But,  in  any  case,  what  hope  have  we 
in  turning  over  those  old  interminable  Chronicles,  with  their 
garrulities  and  insipidities;  or  still  worse  in  patiently  examining 
those  modern  Narrations,  of  the  Philosophic  kind,  where  '  Philos- 
ophy, teaching  by  Experience/  has  to  sit  like  owl  on  housetop, 
seeing  nothing,  understanding  nothing,  uttering  only,  with  solem- 
nity enough,  her  perpetual  most  wearisome  hoo-hoo :  —  what  hope 
have  we,  except  the  for  most  part  fallacious  one  of  gaining  some 
acquaintance  with  our  fellow-creatures,  though  dead  and  vanished, 
yet  dear  to  us;  how  they  got  along  in  those  old  days,  suffering 
and  doing;  to  what  extent,  and  under  what  circumstances,  they 
resisted  the  Devil  and  triumphed  over  him,  or  struck  their  colours 
to  him,  and  were  trodden  under  foot  by  him;  how,  in  short,  the 


4  BIOGRAPHY 

perennial  Battle  went,  which  men  name  Life,  which  we  also  in  these 
new  days,  with  indifferent  fortune,  have  to  fight,  and  must  be- 
queath to  our  sons  and  grandsons  to  go  on  fighting,  —  till  the  En- 
emy one  day  be  quite  vanquished  and  abolished,  or  else  the  great 
Night  sink  and  part  the  combatants;  and  thus,  either  by  some 
Millennium,  or  some  new  Noah's  Deluge,  the  Volume  of  Uni- 
versal History  wind  itself  up!  Other  hope,  in  studying  such 
Books,  we  have  none :  and  that  it  is  a  deceitful  hope,  who  that  has 
tried  knows  not  ?  A  feast  of  widest  Biographic  insight  is  spread  for 
us;  we  enter  full  of  hungry  anticipations:  alas,  like  so  many  other 
feasts,  which  Life  invites  us  to,  a  mere  Ossian's  'feast  of  shells, ,'  - 
the  food  and  liquor  being  all  emptied  out  and  clean  gone,  and  only 
the  vacant  dishes  and  deceitful  emblems  thereof  left!  Your 
Modern  Historical  Restaurateurs  are  indeed  little  better  than  high- 
priests  of  Famine;  that  keep  choicest  china  dinner-sets,  only  no 
dinner  to  serve  therein.  Yet  such  is  our  Biographic  appetite, 
we  run  trying  from  shop  to  shop,  with  ever  new  hope ;  and,  unless 
we  could  eat  the  wind,  with  ever  new  disappointment. 

Again,  consider  the  whole  class  of  Fictitious  Narratives;  from 
the  highest  category  of  epic  or  dramatic  Poetry,  in  Shakspeare 
and  Homer,  down  to  the  lowest  of  froth  Prose,  in  the  Fashionable 
Novel.  What  are  all  these  but  so  many  mimic  Biographies? 
Attempts,  here  by  an  inspired  Speaker,  there  by  an  uninspired 
Babbler,  to  deliver  himself,  more  or  less  ineffectually,  of  the  grand 
secret  wherewith  all  hearts  labour  oppressed :  The  significance  of 
Man's  Life; — which  deliverance,  even  as  traced  in  the  unfurnished 
head,  and  printed  at  the  Minerva  Press,  find  readers.  For, 
observe,  though  there  is  a  greatest  Fool,  as  a  superlative  in  every 
kind;  and  the  most  Foolish  man  in  the  Earth  is  now  indubitably 
living  and  breathing,  and  did  this  morning  or  lately  eat  breakfast, 
and  is  even  now  digesting  the  same;  and  looks  out  on  the  world, 
with  his  dim  horn-eyes,  and  inwardly  forms  some  unspeakable 
theory  thereof:  yet  where  shall  the  authentically  Existing  be  per- 
sonally met  with !  Can  one  of  us,  otherwise  than  by  guess,  know 
that  we  have  got  sight  of  him,  have  orally  communed  with  him? 
To  take  even  the  narrower  sphere  of  this  our  English  Metropolis, 
can  any  one  confidently  say  to  himself,  that  he  has  conversed  with 
the  identical,  individual  Stupidest  man  now  extant  in  London? 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  5 

No  one.  Deep  as  we  dive  in  the  Profound,  there  is  ever  a  new 
depth  opens:  where  the  ultimate  bottom  may  lie,  through  what 
new  scenes  of  being  we  must  pass  before  reaching  it  (except  that 
we  know  it  does  lie  somewhere,  and  might  by  human  faculty  and 
opportunity  be  reached,)  is  altogether  a  mystery  to  us.  Strange, 
tantalising  pursuit !  We  have  the  fullest  assurance,  not  only  that 
there  is  a  Stupidest  of  London  men  actually  resident,  with  bed  and 
board  of  some  kind,  in  London;  but  that  several  persons  have 
been  or  perhaps  are  now  speaking  face  to  face  with  him :  while  for 
us,  chase  it  as  we  may,  such  scientific  blessedness  will  too  probably 
be  forever  denied !  —  But  the  thing  we  meant  to  enforce  was  this 
comfortable  fact,  that  no  known  Head  was  so  wooden,  but  there 
might  be  other  heads  to  which  it  were  a  genius  and  Friar  Bacon's 
Oracle.  Of  no  given  Book,  not  even  of  a  fashionable  Novel,  can 
you  predicate  with  certainty  that  its  vacuity  is  absolute;  that  there 
are  not  other  vacuities  which  shall  partially  replenish  themselves 
therefrom,  and  esteem  it  a  plenum.  How  knowest  thou,  may  the 
distressed  Novelwright  exclaim,  that  I,  here  where  I  sit,  am  the 
Foolishest  of  existing  mortals ;  that  this  my  Long-ear  of  a  Fictitious 
Biography  shall  not  find  one  and  the  other,  into  whose  still  longer 
ears  it  may  be  the  means,  under  Providence,  of  instilling  some- 
what? We  answer,  None  knows,  none  can  certainly  know: 
therefore,  write  on,  worthy  Brother,  even  as  thou  canst,  even  as  it 
has  been  given  thee. 

Here,  however,  in  regard  to  '  Fictitious  Biographies,'  and  much 
other  matter  of  like  sort,  which  the  greener  mind  in  these  days 
inditeth,  we  may  as  well  insert  some  singular  sentences  on  the 
importance  and  significance  of  Reality,  as  they  stand  written  for 
us  in  Professor  Gottfried  Sauerteig's  ^Esthelische  Springwurzeln; 
a  WTork/  perhaps,  as  yet  new  to  most  English  readers.  The  Pro- 
fessor and  Doctor  is  not  a  man  whom  we  can  praise  without  res- 
ervation; neither  shall  we  say  that  his  Springwurzeln  (a  sort  of 
magical  picklocks,  as  he  affectedly  names  them)  are  adequate  to 
'  start '  every  bolt  that  locks  up  an  aesthetic  mystery :  nevertheless,  in 
his  crabbed,  one-sided  way,  he  sometimes  hits  masses  of  the  truth. 
We  endeavour  to  translate  faithfully,  and  trust  the  reader  will  find 
it  worth  serious  perusal: 

1  This  is  one  of  Carlyle's  characteristic  inventions. 


6  BIOGRAPHY 

'The  significance,  even  for  poetic  purposes,'  says  Sauerteig, 
'  that  lies  in  REALITY  is  too  apt  to  escape  us ;  is  perhaps  only  now 
beginning  to  be  discerned.  When  we  named  Rousseau's  Con- 
fessions an  elegiaco-didactic  Poem,  we  meant  more  than  an  empty 
figure  of  speech ;  we  meant  a  historical  scientific  fact. 

'  Fiction,  while  the  feigner  of  it  knows  that  he  is  feigning,  par- 
takes, more  than  we  suspect,  of  the  nature  of  lying;  and  has 
ever  an,  in  some  degree,  unsatisfactory  character.  All  My- 
thologies were  once  Philosophies ;  were  believed;  the  Epic  Poems 
of  old  time,  so  long  as  they  continued  epic,  and  had  any  complete 
impressiveness,  were  Histories,  and  understood  to  be  narratives 
of  facts.  In  so  far  as  Homer  employed  his  gods  as  mere  ornamen- 
tal fringes,  and  had  not  himself,  or  at  least  did  not  expect  his 
hearers  to  have,  a  belief  that  they  were  real  agents  in  those  antique 
doings;  so  far  did  he  fail  to  be  genuine;  so  far  was  he  a  partially 
hollow  and  false  singer ;  and  sang  to  please  only  a  portion  of  man's 
mind,  not  the  whole  thereof. 

'  Imagination  is,  after  all,  but  a  poor  matter  when  it  has  to  part 
company  with  Understanding,  and  even  front  it  hostilely  in  flat 
contradiction.  Our  mind  is  divided  in  twain:  there  is  contest; 
wherein  that  which  is  weaker  must  needs  come  to  the  worse. 
Now  of  all  feelings,  states,  principles,  call  it  what  you  will,  in  man's 
mind,  is  not  Belief  the  clearest,  strongest;  against  which  all  others 
contend  in  vain?  Belief  is,  indeed,  the  beginning  and  first  con- 
dition of  all  spiritual  Force  whatsoever :  only  in  so  far  as  Imagina- 
tion, were  it  but  momentarily,  is  believed,  can  there  be  any  use  or 
meaning  in  it,  any  enjoyment  of  it.  And  what  is  momentary 
Belief?  The  enjoyment  of  a  moment.  Whereas  a  perennial 
Belief  were  enjoyment  perennially,  and  with  the  whole  united  soul. 

'It  is  thus  that  I  judge  of  the  Supernatural  in  an  Epic  Poem; 
and  would  say,  the  instant  it  has  ceased  to  be  authentically  super- 
natural, and  become  what  you  call  "Machinery:"  sweep  it  out 
of  sight  (schaff'  es  mir  vom  Halse}  \  Of  a  truth,  that  same  "  Ma- 
chinery," about  which  the  critics  make  such  hubbub,  was  well 
named  Machinery;  for  it  is  in  very  deed  mechanical,  nowise 
inspired  or  poetical.  Neither  for  us  is  there  the  smallest  aesthetic 
enjoyment  in  it;  save  only  in  this  way;  that  we  believe  it  to  have 
been  believed,  —  by  the  Singer  or  his  Hearers ;  into  whose  case  we 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  7 

now  laboriously  struggle  to  transport  ourselves;  and  so  with 
stinted  enough  result,  catch  some  reflex  of  the  Reality  which  for 
them  was  wholly  real,  and  visible  face  to  face.  Whenever  it  has 
come  so  far  that  your  "Machinery"  is  avowedly  mechanical  and 
unbelieved,  —  what  is  it  else,  if  we  dare  tell  ourselves  the  truth, 
but  a  miserable,  meaningless  Deception,  kept  up  by  old  use  and 
wont  alone  ?  If  the  gods  of  an  Iliad  are  to  us  no  longer  authentic 
Shapes  of  Terror,  heart-stirring,  heart-appalling,  but  only  vague, 
glittering  Shadows,  —  what  must  the  dead  Pagan  gods  of  an 
Epigoniad  be,  the  dead-living  Pagan- Christian  gods  of  a  Lusiad, 
the  concrete-abstract,  evangelical-metaphysical  gods  of  a  Paradise 
Lost  f  Superannuated  lumber !  Cast  raiment,  at  best ;  in  which 
some  poor  mime,  strutting  and  swaggering,  may  or  may  not  set 
forth  new  noble  Human  Feelings  (again  a  Reality),  and  so  secure, 
or  not  secure,  our  pardon  of  such  hoydenish  masking  ;  for  which, 
in  any  case,  he  has  a  pardon  to  ask. 

'True  enough,  none  but  the  earliest  Epic  Poems  can  claim 
this  distinction  of  entire  credibility,  of  Reality:  after  an  Iliad, 
a  Shatter,  a  Koran,  and  other  the  like  primitive  performances, 
the  rest  seem,  by  this  rule  of  mine,  to  be  altogether  excluded  from 
the  list.  Accordingly,  what  are  all  the  rest,  from  Virgil's  dEneid 
downwards,  in  comparison?  Frosty,  artificial,  heterogeneous 
things :  more  of  gumflowers  than  of  roses ;  at  the  best,  of  the  two 
mixed  incoherently  together:  to  some  of  which,  indeed,  it  were  hard 
to  deny  the  title  of  Poems;  yet  to  no  one  of  which  can  that  title 
belong  in  any  sense  even  resembling  the  old  high  one  it,  in  those 
old  days,  conveyed,  —  when  the  epithet  "divine"  or  "sacred," 
as  applied  to  the  uttered  Word  of  man,  was  not  a  vain  metaphor, 
a  vain  sound,  but  a  real  name  with  meaning.  Thus,  too,  the 
farther  we  recede  from  those  early  days,  when  Poetry,  as  true 
Poetry  is  always,  was  still  sacred  or  divine,  and  inspired  (what  ours, 
in  great  part,  only  pretends  to  be) ,  —  the  more  impossible  becomes 
it  to  produce  any,  we  say  not  true  Poetry,  but  tolerable  semblance 
of  such;  the  hollower,  in  particular,  grow  all  manner  of  Epics; 
till  at  length,  as  in  this  generation,  the  very  name  of  Epic  sets  men 
a-yawning,  the  announcement  of  a  new  Epic  is  received  as  a  public 
calamity. 

'But  what  if  the  impossible  being  once  for  all  quite  discarded, 


8  BIOGRAPHY 

the  probable  be  well  adhered  to :  how  stands  it  with  fiction  then  ? 
Why,  then,  I  would  say,  the  evil  is  much  mended,  but  nowise  com- 
pletely cured.  We  have  then,  in  place  of  the  wholly  dead  modern 
Epic,  the  partially  living  modern  Novel ;  to  which  latter  it  is  much 
easier  to  lend  that  above-mentioned,  so  essential  "momentary 
credence"  than  to  the  former:  indeed,  infinitely  easier;  for  the 
former  being  flatly  incredible,  no  mortal  can  for  a  moment  credit  it, 
for  a  moment  enjoy  it.  Thus,  here  and  there,  a  Tom  Jones,  a 
Meister,  a  Crusoe,  will  yield  no  little  solacement  to  the  minds  of 
men;  though  still  immeasurably  less  than  a  Reality  would,  were 
the  significance  thereof  as  impressively  unfolded,  were  the  genius 
that  could  so  unfold  it  once  given  us  by  the  kind  Heavens.  Neither 
say  thou  that  proper  Realities  are  wanting :  for  Man's  Life,  now, 
as  of  old,  is  the  geniune  work  of  God;  wherever  there  is  a  Man, 
a  God  also  is  revealed,  and  all  that  is  Godlike:  a  whole  epitome 
of  the  Infinite,  with  its  meanings,  lies  enfolded  in  the  Life  of  every 
Man.  Only,  alas,  that  the  Seer  to  discern  this  same  Godlike,  and 
with  fit  utterance  uniold  it  for  us,  is  wanting,  and  may  long  be 
wanting ! 

'Nay,  a  question  arises  on  us  here,  wherein  the  whole  German 
reading- world  will  eagerly  join:  Whether  man  can  any  longer  be 
so  interested  by  the  spoken  Word,  as  he  often  was  in  those  primeval 
days,  when  rapt  away  by  its  inscrutable  power,  he  pronounced  it, 
in  such  dialect  as  he  had,  to  be  transcendental  (to  transcend  all 
measure),  to  be  sacred,  prophetic,  and  the  inspiration  of  a  god? 
For  myself,  I  (ich  meines  Ortes),  by  faith  or  by  insight,  do  heartily 
understand  that  the  answer  to  such  question  will  be,  Yea!  For 
never  that  I  could  in  searching  find  out,  has  Man  been,  by  Time 
which  devours  so  much,  deprivated  of  any  faculty  whatsoever 
that  he  in  any  era  was  possessed  of.  To  my  seeming,  the  babe 
born  yesterday  has  all  the  organs  of  Body,  Soul,  and  Spirit,  and  in 
exactly  the  same  combination  and  entireness,  that  the  oldest  Pelas- 
gic  Greek,  or  Mesopotamian  Patriarch,  or  Father  Adam  himself 
could  boast  of.  Ten  fingers,  one  heart  with  venous  and  arterial 
blood  therein,  still  belong  to  man  that  is  born  of  woman :  when  did 
he  lose  any  of  his  spiritual  Endowments  either;  above  all,  his 
highest  spiritual  Endowment,  that  of  revealing  Poetic  Beauty,  and 
of  adequately  receiving  the  same  ?  Not  the  material,  not  the  sus- 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  9 

ceptibility  is  wanting;  only  the  Poet,  or  long  series  of  Poets,  to 
work  on  these.  True,  alas  too  true,  the  Poet  is  still  utterly  want- 
ing, or  all  but  utterly :  nevertheless  have  we  not  centuries  enough 
before  us  to  produce  him  in  ?  Him  and  much  else !  —  I,  for  the 
present,  will  but  predict  that  chiefly  by  working  more  and  more 
on  REALITY,  and  evolving  more  and  more  wisely  its  inexhaustible 
meanings ;  and,  in  brief,  speaking  forth  in  fit  utterance  whatsoever 
our  whole  soul  believes,  and  ceasing  to  speak  forth  what  thing  so- 
ever our  whole  soul  does  not  believe,  —  will  this  high  emprise  be 
accomplished,  or  approximated  to.' 

These  notable,  and  not  unfounded,  though  partial  and  deep- 
seeing  rather  than  wide-seeing  observations  on  the  great  import 
of  REALITY,  considered  even  as  a  poetic  material,  we  have  inserted 
the  more  willingly,  because  a  transient  feeling  to  the  same  purpose 
may  often  have  suggested  itself  to  many  readers ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
it  is  good  that  every  reader  and  every  writer  understand,  with  all 
intensity  of  conviction,  what  quite  infinite  worth  lies  in  Truth: 
how  all-pervading,  omnipotent,  in  man's  mind,  is  the  thing  we 
name  Belief.  For  the  rest,  Herr  Sauerteig,  though  one-sided,  on 
this  matter  of  Reality,  seems  heartily  persuaded,  and  is  not  perhaps 
so  ignorant  as  he  looks.  It  cannot  be  unknown  to  him,  for  ex- 
ample, what  noise  is  made  about  'Invention;'  what  a  supreme 
rank  this  faculty  is  reckoned  to  hold  in  the  poetic  endowment. 
Great  truly  is  Invention ;  nevertheless,  that  is  but  a  poor  exercise 
of  it  with  which  Belief  is  not  concerned.  'An  Irishman  with 
whisky  in  his  head,'  as  poor  Byron  said,  will  invent  you,  in  this 
kind,  till  there  is  enough  and  to  spare.  Nay,  perhaps,  if  we  con- 
sider well,  the  highest  exercise  of  Invention  has,  in  very  deed, 
nothing  to  do  with  Fiction;  but  is  an  invention  of  new  Truth, 
what  we  can  call  a  Revelation;  which  last  does  undoubtedly 
transcend  all  other  poetic  efforts,  nor  can  Herr  Sauerteig  be  too 
loud  in  its  praises.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  whether  such  effort 
is  still  possible  for  man,  Herr  Sauerteig  and  the  bulk  of  the  world 
are  probably  at  issue ;  —  and  will  probably  continue  so  till  that 
same  'Revelation,'  or  new  'Invention  of  Reality,'  of  the  sort  he 
desiderates,  shall  itself  make  its  appearance. 

Meanwhile,  quitting  these  airy  regions,  let  any  one  bethink  him 
how  impressive  the  smallest  historical  fact  may  become,  as  con- 


10  BIOGRAPHY 

trasted  with  the  grandest  fictitious  event;  what  an  incalculable 
force  lies  for  us  in  this  consideration:  The  Thing  which  I  here 
hold  imaged  in  my  mind  did  actually  occur;  was,  in  very  truth, 
an  element  in  the  system  of  the  All,  whereof  I  too  form  part; 
had  therefore,  and  has,  through  all  time,  an  authentic  being;  is 
not  a  dream,  but  a  reality !  We  ourselves  can  remember  reading, 
in  Lord  Clarendon?  with  feelings  perhaps  somehow  accidentally 
opened  to  it,  —  certainly  with  a  depth  of  impression  strange  to  us 
then  and'now  —  that  insignificant-looking  passage,  where  Charles, 
after  the  battle  of  Worcester,  glides  down,  with  Squire  Careless, 
from  the  Royal  Oak,  at  nightfall,  being  hungry :  how,  '  making  a 
shift  to  get  over  hedges  and  ditches,  after  walking  at  least  eight 
or  nine  miles,  which  were  the  more  grievous  to  the  King  by  the 
weight  of  his  boots  (for  he  could  not  put  them  off  when  he  cut  off 
his  hair,  for  want  of  shoes),  before  morning  they  came  to  a  poor 
cottage,  the  owner  whereof  being  a  Roman  Catholic  was  known  to 
Careless.1  How  this  poor  drudge,  being  knocked  up  from  his 
snoring,  'carried  them  into  a  little  barn  full  of  hay,  which  was  a 
better  lodging  than  he  had  for  himself;'  and  by  and  by,  not  with- 
out difficulty,  brought  his  Majesty  'a  piece  of  bread  and  a  great 
pot  of  buttermilk,'  saying  candidly  that  "he  himself  lived  by  his 
daily  labour,  and  that  what  he  had  brought  him  was  the  fare  he 
and  his  wife  had:"  on  which  nourishing  diet  his  Majesty,  'staying 
upon  the  haymow,'  feeds  thankfully  for  two  days;  and  then  de- 
parts, under  new  guidance,  having  first  changed  clbthes,  down 
to  the  very  shirt  and  'old  pair  of  shoes,'  with  his  landlord;  and  so, 
as  worthy  Bunyan  has  it,  'goes  on  his  way,  and  sees  him  no  more.' 
Singular  enough,  if  we  will  think  of  it !  This  then  was  a  genuine 
flesh-and-blood  Rustic  of  the  year  1651 :  he  did  actually  swallow 
bread  and  buttermilk  (not  having  ale  and  bacon),  and  do  field- 
labour:  with  these  hobnailed  'shoes'  has  sprawled  through  mud- 
roads  in  winter,  and,  jocund  or  not,  driven  his  team  a-field  in 
summer:  he  made  bargains;  had  chaff erings  and  higglings,  now 
a  sore  heart,  now  a  glad  one ;  was  born ;  was  a  son,  was  a  father ; 
toiled  in  many  ways,  being  forced  to  it,  till  the  strength  was  all 
worn  out  of  him:  and  then  —  lay  down  'to  rest  his  galled  back/ 
and  sleep  there  till  the  long-distant  morning !  —  How  comes  it, 

1  History  of  the  Rebellion,  iii.  625. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  II 

that  he  alone  of  all  the  British  rustics  who  tilled  and  lived  along 
with  him,  on  whom  the  blessed  sun  on  that  same  'fifth  day  of 
September'  was  shining,  should  have  chanced  to  rise  on  us;  that 
this  poor  pair  of  clouted  Shoes,  out  of  the  million  million  hides  that 
have  been  tanned,  and  cut,  and  worn,  should  still  subsist,  and 
hang  visibly  together?  We  see  him  but  for  a  moment;  for  one 
moment,  the  blanket  of  the  Night  is  rent  asunder,  so  that  we  be- 
hold and  see,  and  then  closes  over  him  —  forever. 

So  too,  in  some  BosweWs  Life  of  Johnson,  how  indelible,  and 
magically  bright,  does  many  a  little  Reality  dwell  in  our  remem- 
brance !  There  is  no  need  that  the  personages  on  the  scene  be 
a  King  and  Clown;  that  the  scene  be  the  Forest  of  the  Royal 
Oak,  'on  the  borders  of  Staffordshire:'  need  only  that  the  scene 
lie  on  this  old  firm  Earth  of  ours,  where  we  also  have  so  surprisingly 
arrived ;  that  the  personages  be  men,  and  seen  with  the  eyes  of  a 
man.  £Foolish  enough,  how  some  slight,  perhaps  mean  and  even 
ugly  incident,  if  real  and  well  presented,  will  fix  itself  in  a  suscep- 
tive memory,  and  lie  ennobled  there;  silvered  over  with  the  pale 
cast  of  thought,  with  the  pathos  which  belongs  only  to  the  DeaclT] 
For  the  Past  is  all  holy  to  us;  the  Dead  are  all  holy,  even  they  that 
were  base  and  wicked  while  alive.  Their  baseness  and  wicked- 
ness was  not  They,  was  but  the  heavy  and  unmanageable  En- 
vironment that  lay  round  them,  with  which  they  fought  unpre- 
vailing:  they  (the  ethereal  god-given  Force  that  dwelt  in  them, 
and  was  their  Self)  have  now  shuffled-off  that  heavy  Environment, 
and  are  free  and  pure:  their  life-long  Battle,  go  how  it  might,  is 
all  ended,  with  many  wounds  or  with  fewer;  they  have  been  re- 
called from  it,  and  the  once  harsh- jarring  battle-field  has  become 
a  silent  awe-inspiring  Golgotha,  and  Gottesacker  (Field  of  God) ! 
-  Boswell  relates  this  in  itself  smallest  and  poorest  of  occurrences : 
'As  we  walked  along  the  Strand  to-night,  arm  in  arm,  a  woman 
of  the  town  accosted  us  in  the  usual  enticing  manner.  "No,  no, 
my  girl,"  said  Johnson;  "it  won't  do."  He,  however,  did  not 
treat  her  with  harshness ;  and  we  talked  of  the  wretched  life  of  such 
women.'  Strange  power  of  Reality!  Not  even  this  poorest  of 
occurrences,  but  now,  after  seventy  years  are  come  and  gone,  has 
a  meaning  for  us.  Do  but  consider  that  it  is  true;  that  it  did  in 
very  deed  occur!  That  unhappy  Outcast,  with  all  her  sins  and 


12  BIOGRAPHY 

woes,  her  lawless  desires,  too  complex  mischances,  her  waitings 
and  her  riotings,  has  departed  utterly ;  alas !  her  siren  finery  has 
got  all  besmutched,  ground,  generations  since,  into  dust  and 
smoke;  of  her  degraded  body,  and  whole  miserable  earthly  exist- 
ence, all  is  away:  she  is  no  longer  here,  but  far  from  us,  in  the 
bosom  of  Eternity,  —  whence  we  too  came,  whither  we  too  are 
bound  !  Johnson  said,  "No,  no,  my  girl;  it  won't  do;"  and  then 
*  we  talked ; '  —  and  herewith  the  wretched  one,  seen  but  for  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  passes  on  into  the  utter  Darkness.  No  high 
Calista,  that  ever  issued  from  Story-teller's  brain,  will  impress  us 
more  deeply  than  this  meanest  of  the  mean ;  and  for  a  good  reason : 
That  she  issued  from  the  Maker  of  Men. 

It  is  well  worth  the  Artist's  while  to  examine  for  himself  what  it 
is  that  gives  such  pitiful  incidents  their  memorableness ;  his  aim 
likewise  is,  above  all  things,  to  be  memorable.  Half  the  effect, 
we  already  perceive,  depends  on  the  object;  on  its  being  real,  on 
its  being  really  seen.  The  other  half  will  depend  on  the  observer; 
and  the  question  now  is:  How  are  real  objects  to  be  so  seen; 
on  what  quality  of  observing  or  of  style  in  describing,  does  this 
so  intense  pictorial  power  depend?  Often  a  slight  circumstance 
contributes  curiously  to  the  result:  some  little,  and  perhaps  to 
appearance  accidental,  feature  is  presented;  a  light-gleam,  which 
instantaneously  excites  the  mind,  and  urges  it  to  complete  the  pic- 
ture, and  evolve  the  meaning  thereof  for  itself.  By  critics,  such 
light-gleams  and  their  almost  magical  influence  have  frequently 
been  noted :  but  the  power  to  produce  such,  to  select  such  features 
as  will  produce  them,  is  generally  treated  as  a  knack,  or  trick  of 
the  trade,  a  secret  for  being  '  graphic ; '  whereas  these  magical  feats 
are,  in  truth,  rather  inspirations ;  and  the  gift  of  performing  them, 
which  acts  unconsciously,  without  forethought,  and  as  if  by  nature 
alone,  is  properly  a  genius  for  description. 

One  grand,  invaluable  secret  there  is,  however,  which  includes 
all  the  rest,  and,  what  is  comfortable,  lies  clearly  in  every  man's 
power :  To  have  an  open  loving  heart,  and  what  follows  from  the 
possession  of  such!  Truly  it  has  been  said,  emphatically  in  these 
days  ought  it  to  be  repeated :  A  loving  Heart  is  the  beginning  of  all 
Knowledge.  This  it  is  that  opens  the  whole  mind,  quickens  every 
faculty  of  the  intellect  to  do  its  fit  work,  that  of  knowing;  and 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  13 

therefrom,  by  sure  consequence,  of  vividly  uttering-forth.  Other 
secret  for  being  'graphic'  is  there  none,  worth  having:  but  this 
is  an  all-sufficient  one.  See,  for  example,  what  a  small  Boswell 
can  do !  Hereby,  indeed,  is  the  whole  man  made  a  living  mirror, 
wherein  the  wonders  of  this  ever-wonderful  Universe  are,  in  their 
true  light  (which  is  ever  a  magical,  miraculous  one)  represented, 
and  reflected  back  on  us.  It  has  been  said,  '  the  heart  sees  farther 
than  the  head:'  but,  indeed,  without  the  seeing  heart,  there  is  no 
true  seeing  for  the  head  so  much  as  possible ;  all  is  mere  oversight, 
hallucination  and  vain  superficial  phantasmagoria,  which  can  per- 
manently profit  no  one. 

Here,  too,  may  we  not  pause  for  an  instant,  and  make  a  practical 
reflection?  Considering  the  multitude  of  mortals  that  handle  the 
Pen  in  these  days,  and  can  mostly  spell,  and  write  without  glaring 
violations  of  grammar,  the  question  naturally  arises:  How  is  it, 
then,  that  no  Work  proceeds  from  them,  bearing  any  stamp  of 
authenticity  and  permanence;  of  worth  for  more  than  one  day? 
Ship-loads  of  Fashionable  Novels,  Sentimental  Rhymes,  Tragedies, 
Farces,  Diaries  of  Travel,  Tales  by  flood  and  field,  are  swallowed 
monthly  into  the  bottomless  Pool:  still  does  the  Press  toil;  in- 
numerable Paper-makers,  Compositors,  Printers'  Devils,  Book- 
binders, and  Hawkers  grown  hoarse  with  loud  proclaiming,  rest 
not  from  their  labour;  and  still,  in  torrents,  rushes  on  the  great 
array  of  Publications,  unpausing,  to  their  final  home;  and  still 
Oblivion,  like  the  Grave,  cries,  Give !  Give !  How  is  it  that  of  all 
these  countless  multitudes,  no  one  can  attain  to  the  smallest  mark 
of  excellence,  or  produce  aught  that  shall  endure  longer  than  '  snow- 
flake  on  the  river,'  or  the  foam  of  penny-beer?  We  answer: 
Because  they  are  foam;  because  there  is  no  Reality  in  them. 
These  Three  Thousand  men,  women  and  children,  that,  make  up 
the  army  of  British  Authors,  do  not,  if  we  will  well  consider  it, 
see  anything  whatever;  consequently  have  nothing  that  they  can 
record  and  utter,  only  more  or  fewer  things  that  they  can  plausibly 
pretend  to  record.  The  Universe,  of  Man  and  Nature,  is  still 
quite  shut-up  from  them ;  the  '  open  secret '  still  utterly  a  secret ; 
because  no  sympathy  with  Man  or  Nature,  no  love  and  free  sim- 
plicity of  heart  has  yet  unfolded  the  same.  Nothing  but  a  pitiful 
Image  of  their  own  pitiful  Self  with  its  vanities,  and  grudgings, 


14  BIOGRAPHY 

and  ravenous  hunger  of  all  kinds,  hangs  forever  painted  in  the 
retina  of  these  unfortunate  persons;  so  that  the  starry  ALL, 
with  whatsoever  it  embraces,  does  but  appear  as  some  expanded 
magic-lantern  shadow  of  that  same  Image,  —  and  naturally  looks 
pitiful  enough. 

It  is  vain  for  these  persons  to  allege  that  they  are  naturally  with- 
out gift,  naturally  stupid  and  sightless,  and  so  can  attain  to  no 
knowledge  of  anything;  therefore,  in  writing  of  anything,  must 
needs  write  falsehoods  of  it,  there  being  in  it  no  truth  for  them. 
Not  so,  good  Friends.  The  stupidest  of  you  has  a  certain  faculty; 
were  it  but  that  of  articulate  speech  (say,  in  the  Scottish,  the  Irish, 
the  Cockney  dialect,  or  even  in  '  Governess-English '),  and  of  physi- 
cally discerning  what  lies  under  your  nose.  The  stupidest  of  you 
would  perhaps  grudge  to  be  compared  in  faculty  with  James 
Boswell ;  yet  see  what  he  has  produced !  You  do  not  use  your 
faculty  honestly ;  your  heart  is  shut  up ;  full  of  greediness,  malice, 
discontent ;  so  your  intellectual  sense  cannot  be  open.  It  is  vain 
also  to  urge  that  James  Boswell  had  opportunities ;  saw  great  men 
and  great  things,  such  as  you  can  never  hope  to  look  on.  What 
make  ye  of  Parson  White  in  Selborne  ?  He  had  not  only  no  great 
men  to  look  on,  but  not  even  men;  merely  sparrows  and  cock- 
chafers: yet  has  he  left  us  a  Biography  of  these;  which,  under  its 
title  Natural  History  of  Selborne,  still  remains  valuable  to  us; 
which  has  copied  a  little  sentence  or  two  faithfully  from  the  In- 
spired Volume  of  Nature,  and  so  is  itself  not  without  inspiration. 
Go  ye  and  do  likewise.  Sweep  away  utterly  all  frothiness  and 
falsehood  from  your  heart ;  struggle  unweariedly  to  acquire,  what 
is  possible  for  every  god-created  Man,  a  free,  open,  humble  soul : 
speak  not  at  all,  in  any  wise,  till  you  have  somewhat  to  speak;  care 
not  for  the  reward  of  your  speaking,  but  simply  and  with  undivided 
mind  for  the  truth  of  your  speaking :  then  be  placed  in  what  section 
of  Space  and  of  Time  soever,  do  but  open  your  eyes,  and  they  shall 
actually  see,  and  bring  you  real  knowledge,  wondrous,  worthy  of 
belief;  and  instead  of  one  Boswell  and  one  White,  the  world  will 
rejoice  in  a  thousand,  —  stationed  on  their  thousand  several  watch- 
towers,  to  instruct  us  by  indubitable  documents,  of  whatsoever 
in  our  so  stupendous  World  comes  to  light  and  is!  O,  had  the 
Editor  of  this  Magazine  but  a  magic  rod  to  turn  all  that  not  in- 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  15 

considerable  Intellect,  which  now  deluges  us  with  artificial  fictitious 
soap-lather,  and  mere  Lying,  into  the  faithful  study  of  Reality, 
—  what  knowledge  of  great,  everlasting  Nature,  and  of  Man's 
ways  and  doings  therein,  would  not  every  year  bring  us  in !  Can 
we  but  change  one  single  soap-latherer  and  mountebank  Juggler, 
into  a  true  Thinker  and  Doer,  who  even  tries  honestly  to  think  and 
do,  —  great  will  be  our  reward. 

But  to  return;  or  rather  from  this  point  to  begin  our  journey! 
If  now,  what  with  Herr  Sauerteig's  Springwurzeln,  what  with  so 
much  lucubration  of  our  own,  it  have  become  apparent  how  deep, 
immeasurable  is  the  '  worth  that  lies  in  Reality,'  and  farther,  how 
exclusive  the  interest  which  man  takes  in  Histories  of  Man,  — 
may  it  not  seem  lamentable,  that  so  few  genuinely  good  Biog- 
raphies have  yet  been  accumulated  in  Literature ;  that  in  the  whole 
world,  one  cannot  find,  going  strictly  to  work,  above  some  dozen 
or  baker's  dozen,  and  those  chiefly  of  very  ancient  date  ?  Lam- 
entable; yet,  after  what  we  have  just  seen,  accountable.  An- 
other question  might  be  asked :  How  comes  it  that  in  England  we 
have  simply  one  good  Biography,  this  BoswclVs  Johnson;  and  of 
good,  indifferent,  or  even  bad  attempts  at  Biography,  fewer  than 
any  civilised  people?  Consider  the  French  and  Germans,  with 
their  Moreris,  Bayles,  Jordenses,  Jochers,  their  innumerable 
Memoirs,  and  Schilderungen,  and  Biographies  Universelles ;  not 
to  speak  of  Rousseaus,  Goethes,  Schuberts,  Jung-Stillings :  and 
then  contrast  with  these  our  poor  Birches  and  Kippises  and  Pecks; 
the  whole  breed  of  whom,  moreover,  is  now  extinct ! 

With  this  question,  as  the  answer  might  lead  us  far,  and  come 
out  unflattering  to  patriotic  sentiment,  we  shall  not  intermeddle; 
but  turn  rather,  with  great  pleasure,  to  the  fact,  that  one  excellent 
Biography  is  actually  English ;  —  and  even  now  lies,  in  Five  new 
Volumes,  at  our  hand,  soliciting  a  new  consideration  from  us ;  such 
as,  age  after  age  (the  Perennial  showing  ever  new  phases  as  our 
position  alters),  it  may  long  be  profitable  to  bestow  on  it;  —  to 
which  task  we  here,  in  this  position,  in  this  age,  gladly  address 
ourselves. 

First,  however,  let  the  foolish  April-fool  day  pass  by;  and  our 
Reader,  during  these  twenty-nine  days  of  uncertain  weather  that 
will  follow,  keep  pondering,  according  to  convenience,  the  purport 


1 6          LORD  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY 

of  BIOGRAPHY  in  general :  then,  with  the  blessed  dew  of  May-day, 
and  in  unlimited  convenience  of  space,  shall  all  that  we  have 
written  on  Johnson  and  BosweWs  Johnson  and  Croker's  BosweWs 
Johnson  be  faithfully  laid  before  him. 


LORD  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY 

THE  FIGHT  WITH  SIR   JOHN  AYRES 

[From  The  Autobiography  of  Edward,  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  written 
in  1643,  first  printed  by  Horace  Walpole  in  1764. 

HERBERT,  EDWARD,  first  BARON  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY  (1583-1648), 
philosopher,  historian,  and  diplomatist;  while  at  University  College,  Oxford, 
taught  himself  the  Romance  languages  and  became  a  good  musician,  rider, 
and  fencer;  went  to  court,  1600;  sheriff  of  Montgomeryshire,  1605;  dur- 
ing a  continental  tour  became  intimate  with  Casaubon  and  the  Constable 
Montmorency,  and  fought  several  duels,  1608-10;  volunteer  at  recapture 
of  Juliers,  1610;  joined  Prince  of  Orange's  army,  1614;  visited  the  elector 
palatine  and  the  chief  towns  of  Italy;  offered  help  to  the  Savoyards,  but 
was  imprisoned  by  the  French  at  Lyons,  1615;  stayed  with  Prince  of  Orange, 
1616;  on  his  return  became  intimate  with  Donne,  Carew,  and  Ben  Jonson; 
named  by  Buckingham  ambassador  at  Paris,  1619;  tried  to  obtain  French 
support  for  elector  palatine,  and  suggested  marriage  between  Henrietta 
Maria  and  Prince  Charles;  recalled  for  quarrelling  with  the  French  king's 
favourite,  De  Luynes,  1621,  but  reappointed  on  De  Luynes's  death,  1622; 
recalled,  1624,  owing  to  his  disagreement  with  James  I  about  the  French 
marriage  negotiations;  received  in  Irish  peerage  the  barony  of  Cherbury, 
1629,  and  seat  in  council  of  war,  1632;  attended  Charles  I  on  Scottish  ex- 
pedition, 1639-40;  committed  to  the  Tower  for  royalist  speech  in  House 
of  Lords,  1642,  but  released  on  apologising;  aimed  at  neutrality  during  the 
war;  compelled  to  admit  parliamentary  force  into  Montgomery  Castle, 
1644;  submitted  to  parliament  and  received  a  pension,  1645;  steward  of 
duchy  of  Cornwall  and  warden  of  the  Stannaries,  1646;  visited  Gassendi, 
1647;  died  in  London,  Selden  being  one  of  his  executors.  His  autobiog- 
raphy (to  1624),  printed  by  Horace  Walpole,  1764  (thrice  reissued),  and 
edited  by  Mr.  Sidney  Lee,  1886,  scarcely  mentions  his  serious  pursuits. 
His  'De  Veritate'  (Paris,  1624,  London,  1645),  the  chief  of  his  philosophical 
works,  is  the  first  purely  metaphysical  work  by  an  Englishman.  It  was  un- 
favourably criticised  by  Baxter,  Locke,  and  others,  but  commended  by 
Gassendi  and  Descartes.  Though  named  the  father  of  English  deism, 
Herbert's  real  affinity  was  with  the  Cambridge  Platonists.  His  poems  were 
edited  by  Mr.  Churton  Collins,  1881;  his  'Life  of  Henry  VIII'  (apologetic) 
first  published,  1649.  —  Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N.  B. 

"But  it  is  doubtful  if  any  other  autobiography  breathes  quite  as  freely 
the  writer's  overweening  conceit  of  his  own  worth,  which  is  the  primary 
condition  of  all  autobiographical  excellence.  At  every  turn  Lord  Herbert 


THE  FIGHT  WITH  SIR  JOHN  AY  RES  17 

applauds  his  own  valour,  his  own  beauty,  his  own  gentility  of  birth.  At 
home  and  abroad  he  flatters  himself  that  he  is  the  cynosure  of  neighbouiing 
eyes.  He,  in  fact,  conforms  from  end  to  end  to  all  the  conditions  which 
make  autobiography  successful.  He  is  guilty  of  many  misrepresentations. 
No  defect  is  more  patent  in  his  memoirs  than  the  total  lack  of  a  sense  of 
proportion.  Lord  Herbert's  self-satisfaction  is  built  on  sand.  It  is  bred 
of  the  trivialities  of  fashionable  life,  — of  the  butterfly  triumphs  won  in  court 
society.  He  passes  by  in  contemptuous  silence  his  truly  valuable  contri- 
butions to  philosophy,  history,  and  poetry.  But  the  contrast  between  the 
grounds  on  which  he  professed  a  desire  to  be  remembered  and  those  on 
which  he  deserved  to  be  remembered  by  posterity,  gives  his  book  almost  all 
its  value.  Men  of  solid  mental  ability  and  achievements  occasionally  like 
to  pose  in  society  as  gay  Lotharios;  it  is  rare,  however,  for  them  to  endeavour, 
even  as  autobiographers,  to  convey  the  impression  to  all  succeeding  genera- 
tions that  they  were  gay  Lotharios  and  not  much  else  besides.  Yet  it  is 
such  transparent  errors  of  judgment  that  give  autobiography  its  finest 
flavour."  —  SIDNEY  LEE,  The  Autobiography  of  Edward,  Lord  Herbert  of 
Cherbury,  Second  Edition,  Introduction,  p.  xiii.  Routledge  &  Sons,  London.] 

And  now  taking  boat,  I  passed  along  the  river  of  Rhine  to  the 
Low  Countries,  where  after  some  stay,  I  went  to  Antwerp  and 
Brussels;  and  having  passed  some  time  in  the  court  there,  went 
from  thence  to  Calais,  where  taking  ship,  I  arrived  at  Dover,  and 
so  went  to  London.  I  had  scarce  been  two  days  there,  when  the 
Lords  of  the  Council  sending  for  me,  ended  the  difference  betwixt 
the  Lord  of  Walden  and  myself.  And  now,  if  I  may  say  it  without 
vanity,  I  was  in  great  esteem  both  in  court  and  city ;  many  of  the 
greatest  desiring  my  company,  though  yet  before  that  time  I  had 
no  acquaintance  with  them.  Richard,  Earl  of  Dorset,  to  whom 
otherwise  I  was  a  stranger,  one  day  invited  me  to  Dorset  House, 
where  bringing  me  into  his  gallery,  and  showing  me  many  pictures, 
he  at  last  brought  me  to  a  frame  covered  with  green  taffeta,  and 
asked  me  who  I  thought  was  there;  and  therewithal  presently 
drawing  the  curtain,  showed  me  my  own  picture;  whereupon 
demanding  how  his  lordship  came  to  have  it,  he  answered,  that  he 
had  heard  so  many  brave  things  of  me,  that  he  got  a  copy  of  a  pic- 
ture which  one  Larkin  a  painter  drew  for  me,  the  original  whereof 
I  intended  before  my  departure  to  the  Low  Countries  for  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy.  But  not  only  the  Earl  of  Dorset,  but  a  greater  person  l 
than  I  will  here  nominate,  got  another  copy  from  Larkin,  and  plac- 
ing it  afterwards  in  her  cabinet  (without  that  ever  I  knew  any  such 

1  This  was  probably  Queen  Anne,  the  consort  of  James  I. 
c 


1 8          LORD  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY 

thing  was  done),  gave  occasion  to  those  who  saw  it  after  her  death 
of  more  discourse  than  I  could  have  wished;  and  indeed  I  may 
truly  say,  that  taking  of  my  picture  was  fatal  to  me,  for  more 
reasons  than  I  shall  think  fit  to  deliver. 

There  was  a  lady  also,  wife  to  Sir  John  Ayres,  knight,  who  find- 
ing some  means  to  get  a  copy  of  my  picture  from  Larkin,  gave  it 
to  Mr.  Isaac  Oliver,  the  painter  in  Blackfriars,  and  desired  him  to 
draw  it  in  little  after  his  manner ;  which  being  done,  she  caused  it 
to  be  set  in  gold  and  enamelled,  and  so  wore  it  about  her  neck, 
so  low  that  she  hid  it  under  her  breasts,  which,  I  conceive,  coming 
afterwards  to  the  knowledge  of  Sir  John  Ayres,  gave  him  more 
cause  of  jealousy  than  needed,  had  he  known  how  innocent  I 
was  from  pretending  to  any  thing  which  might  wrong  him  or  his 
lady;  since  I  could  not  so  much  as  imagine  that  either  she  had  my 
picture,  or  that  she  bare  more  than  ordinary  affection  to  me.  It 
is  true  that  she  had  a  place  in  court,  and  attended  Queen  Anne, 
and  was  beside  of  an  excellent  wit  and  discourse,  she  had  made 
herself  a  considerable  person;  howbeit  little  more  than  common 
civility  ever  passed  betwixt  us,  though  I  confess  I  think  no  man 
was  welcomer  to  her  when  I  came,  for  which  I  shall  allege  this 
passage :  — 

Coming  one  day  into  her  chamber,  I  saw  her  through  the 
curtains  lying  upon  her  bed  with  a  wax  candle  in  one  hand,  and  the 
picture  I  formerly  mentioned  in  the  other.  I  coming  thereupon 
somewhat  boldly  to  her,  she  blew  out  the  candle,  and  hid  the  pic- 
ture from  me ;  myself  thereupon  being  curious  to  know  what  that 
was  she  held  in  her  hand,  got  the  candle  to  be  lighted  again,  by 
means  whereof  I  found  it  was  my  picture  she  looked  upon  with 
more  earnestness  and  passion  than  I  could  have  easily  believed, 
especially  since  myself  was  not  engaged  in  any  affection  towards 
her.  I  could  willingly  have  omitted  this  passage,  but  that  it  was 
the  beginning  of  a  bloody  history  which  followed :  howsoever,  yet 
I  must  before  the  Eternal  God  clear  her  honour. 

And  now  in  court  a  great  person l  sent  for  me  divers  times  to  at- 
tend her,  which  summons  though  I  obeyed,  yet  God  knoweth 
I  declined  coming  to  her  as  much  as  conveniently  I  could,  without 
incurring  her  displeasure;  and  this  I  did  not  only  for  very 

1  Queen  Anne. 


THE  FIGHT  WITH  SIR  JOHN  AY  RES  ig 

honest  reasons,  but,  to  speak  ingenuously,  because  that  affec- 
tion passed  betwixt  me  and  another  lady  (who  I  believe  was 
the  fairest  of  her  time)  as  nothing  could  divert  it.  I  had  not 
been  long  in  London,  when  a  violent  burning  fever  seized  upon  me, 
which  brought  me  almost  to  my  death,  though  at  last  I  did  by 
slow  degrees  recover  my  health.  Being  thus  upon  my  amend- 
ment, the  Lord  Lisle,  afterwards  Earl  of  Leicester,  sent  me  word 
that  Sir  John  Ayres  intended  to  kill  me  in  my  bed,  and  wished  me 
keep  a  guard  upon  my  chamber  and  person ;  the  same  advertise- 
ment was  confirmed  by  Lucy,  Countess  of  Bedford,  and  the  Lady 
Hobby  shortly  after.  Hereupon  I  thought  fit  to  entreat  Sir 
William  Herbert,  now  Lord  Powis,  to  go  to  Sir  John  Ayres,  and 
tell  him  that  I  marvelled  much  at  the  information  given  me  by 
these  great  persons,  and  that  I  could  not  imagine  any  sufficient 
ground  hereof ;  howbeit,  if  he  had  anything  to  say  to  me  in  a  fair 
and  noble  way,  I  would  give  him  the  meeting  as  soon  as  I  had  got 
strength  enough  to  stand  upon  my  legs;  Sir  William  hereupon 
brought  me  so  ambiguous  and  doubtful  an  answer  from  him,  that 
whatsoever  he  meant,  he  would  not  declare  yet  his  intention, 
which  was  really,  as  I  found  afterwards,  to  kill  me  any  way  that  he 
could.  Finding  no  means  thus  to  surprise  me,  he  sent  me  a  letter 
to  this  effect;  that  he  desired  to  meet  me  somewhere,  and  that  it 
might  so  fall  out  as  I  might  return  quietly  again.  To  this  I  re- 
plied, that  if  he  desired  to  fight  with  me  upon  equal  terms,  I  should 
upon  assurance  of  the  field  and  fair  play,  give  him  meeting  when 
he  did  any  way  specify  the  cause,  and  that  I  did  not  think  fit 
to  come  to  him  upon  any  other  terms,  having  been  sufficiently 
informed  of  his  plots  to  assassinate  me. 

After  this,  finding  he  could  take  no  advantage  against  me  then 
in  a  treacherous  way,  he  resolved  to  assassinate  me  in  this  manner; 
hearing  I  was  to  come  to  Whitehall  on  horseback,  with  two  lacqueys 
only,  he  attended  my  coming  back  in  a  place  called  Scotland  Yard, 
at  the  hither  end  of  Whitehall,  as  you  come  to  it  from  the  Strand, 
hiding  himself  there  with  four  men  armed,  on  purpose  to  kill  me. 
I  took  horse  at  Whitehall  Gate,  and  passing  by  that  place,  he 
being  armed  with  a  sword  and  dagger,  without  giving  me  so  much 
as  the  least  warning,  ran  at  me  furiously,  but  instead  of  me, 
wounded  my  horse  in  the  brisket,  as  far  as  his  sword  could  enter 


20          LORD  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY 

for  the  bone ;  my  horse  hereupon  starting  aside,  he  ran  him  again 
in  the  shoulder,  which,  though  it  made  the  horse  more  timorous,  yet 
gave  me  time  to  draw  my  sword.  His  men  thereupon  encompassed 
me,  and  wounded  my  horse  in  three  places  more;  this  made  my 
horse  kick  and  fling  in  that  manner  as  his  men  durst  not  come 
near  me ;  which  advantage  I  took  to  strike  at  Sir  John  Ayres  with 
all  my  force,  but  he  warded  the  blow  both  with  his  sword  and 
dagger;  instead  of  doing  him  harm,  I  broke  my  sword  within  a  foot 
of  the  hilt.  Hereupon  some  passenger  that  knew  me,  and  ob- 
serving my  horse  bleeding  in  so  many  places,  and  so  many  men 
assaulting  me,  and  my  sword  broken,  cried  to  me  several  times, 
"Ride  away,  ride  away; "  but  I,  scorning  a  base  flight  upon  what 
terms  soever,  instead  thereof  alighted  as  well  as  I  could  from  my 
horse.  I  had  no  sooner  put  one  foot  upon  the  ground,  but  Sir 
John  Ayres  pursuing  me,  made  at  my  horse  again,  which  the  horse 
perceiving,  pressed  on  me  on  the  side  I  alighted,  in  that  manner 
that  he  threw  me  down,  so  that  I  remained  flat  upon  the 
ground,  only  one  foot  hanging  in  the  stirrup,  with  that  piece  of  a 
sword  in  my  right  hand.  Sir  John  Ayres  hereupon  ran  about 
the  horse,  and  was  thrusting  his  sword  into  me,  when  I,  finding 
myself  in  this  danger,  did  with  both  my  arms  reaching  at  his  legs 
pull  them  towards  me,  till  he  fell  down  backwards  on  his  head; 
one  of  my  footmen  hereupon,  who  was  a  little  Shropshire  boy,  freed 
my  foot  out  of  the  stirrup;  the  other,  which  was  a  great  fellow, 
having  run  away  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  first  assault.  This  gave 
me  time  to  get  upon  my  legs,  and  to  put  myself  in  the  best  posture 
I  could  with  that  poor  remnant  of  a  weapon.  Sir  John  Ayres 
by  this  time  likewise  was  got  up,  standing  betwixt  me  and  some 
part  of  Whitehall,  with  two  men  on  each  side  of  him,  and  his 
brother  behind  him,  with  at  least  twenty  or  thirty  persons 
of  his  friends,  or  attendants  of  the  Earl  of  Suffolk.1  Observing 
thus  a  body  of  men  standing  in  opposition  against  me,  though  to 
speak  truly  I  saw  no  swords  drawn  but  by  Sir  John  Ayres  and  his 
men,  I  ran  violently  against  Sir  John  Ayres;  but  he,  knowing  my 
sword  had  no  point,  held  his  sword  and  dagger  over  his  head,  as 
believing  I  could  strike  rather  than  thrust,  which  I  no  sooner  per- 

1  Father  of  Lord  Howard  of  Walden,  with  whom  Herbert  had  lately  quar- 
relled.—  Lee. 


THE  FIGHT   WITH  SIR  JOHN   AY  RES  21 

ceived  but  I  put  a  home  thrust  to  the  middle  of  his  breast,  that  I 
threw  him  down  with  so  much  force,  that  his  head  fell  first  to  the 
ground,  and  his  heels  upwards.  His  men  hereupon  assaulted  me, 
when  one  Mr.  Mansel,  a  Glamorganshire  gentleman,  finding  so 
many  set  against  me  alone,  closed  with  one  of  them;  a  Scotch 
gentleman  also  closing  with  another,  took  him  off  also.  All  I 
could  well  do  to  those  two  which  remained  was  to  ward  their 
thrusts,  which  I  did  with  that  resolution  that  I  got  ground  upon 
them.  Sir  John  Ayres  was  now  got  up  a  third  time,  when  I  mak- 
ing towards  him  with  the  intention  to  close,  thinking  that  there  was 
otherwise  no  safety  for  me,  put  by  a  thrust  of  his  with  my  left  hand, 
and  so  coming  within  him,  received  a  stab  with  his  dagger  on  my 
right  side,  which  ran  down  my  ribs  as  far  as  my  hip,  which  I  feeling, 
did  with  my  right  elbow  force  his  hand,  together  with  the  hilt  of 
the  dagger,  so  near  the  upper  part  of  my  right  side,  that  I  made 
him  leave  hold.  The  dagger  now  sticking  in  me,  Sir  Henry  Gary, 
afterwards  Lord  of  Falkland,  and  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland,  find- 
ing the  dagger  thus  in  my  body,  snatched  it  out.  This  while  I, 
being  closed  with  Sir  John  Ayres,  hurt  him  on  the  head,  and  threw 
him  down  a  third  time,  when  kneeling  on  the  ground  and  bestriding 
him,  I  struck  at  him  as  hard  as  I  could  with  my  piece  of  a  sword, 
and  wounded  him  in  four  several  places,  and  did  almost  cut  off 
his  left  hand ;  his  two  men  this  while  struck  at  me,  but  it  pleased 
God  even  miraculously  to  defend  me;  for  when  I  lifted  up  my 
sword  to  strike  at  Sir  John  Ayres,  I  bore  off  their  blows 
half  a  dozen  times.  His  friends  now  finding  him  in  this  danger, 
took  him  by  the  head  and  shoulders,  and  drew  him  from  be- 
twixt my  legs,  and  carried  him  along  with  them  through 
Whitehall,  at  the  stairs  whereof  he  took  boat.  Sir  Herbert 
Croft  (as  he  told  me  afterwards)  met  him  upon  the  water 
vomiting  all  the  way,  which  I  believe  was  caused  by  the  violence 
of  the  first  thrust  I  gave  him.  His  servants,  brother,  and  friends, 
being  now  retired  also,  I  remained  master  of  the  place  and  his 
weapons ;  having  first  wrested  his  dagger  from  him,  and  afterward 
struck  his  sword  out  of  his  hand. 

This  being  done,  I  retired  to  a  friend's  house  in  the  Strand, 
where  I  sent  for  a  surgeon,  who  searching  my  wound  on  the  right 
side,  and  finding  it  not  to  be  mortal,  cured  me  in  the  space  of  some 


22          LORD  HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY 

ten  days,  during  which  time  I  received  many  noble  visits  and 
messages  from  some  of  the  best  in  the  kingdom.  Being  now  fully 
recovered  of  my  hurts,  I  desired  Sir  Robert  Harley  to  go  to  Sir  John 
Ayres,  and  tell  him,  that  though  I  thought  he  had  not  so  much 
honour  left  in  him,  that  I  could  be  anyway  ambitious  to  get  it,  yet 
that  I  desired  to  see  him  in  the  field  with  his  sword  in  his  hand ; 
the  answer  that  he  sent  me  was,  that  he  would  kill  me  with  a  musket 
out  of  a  window. 

The  Lords  of  the  Privy  Council,  who  had  first  sent  for  my  sword, 
that  they  might  see  the  little  fragment  of  a  weapon  with  which  I 
had  so  behaved  myself,  as  perchance  the  like  had  not  been  heard 
in  any  credible  way,  did  afterwards  command  both  him  and  me 
to  appear  before  them ;  but  I  absenting  myself  on  purpose,  sent  one 
Humphrey  Hill  with  a  challenge  to  him  in  an  ordinary,  which  he 
refusing  to  receive,  Humphrey  Hill  put  it  upon  the  point  of  his 
sword,  and  so  let  it  fall  before  him  and  the  company  then  present. 

The  Lords  of  the  Privy  Council  had  now  taken  order  to  appre- 
hend Sir  John  Ayres;  when  I,  finding  nothing  else  to  be  done, 
submitted  myself  likewise  to  them.  Sir  John  Ayres  had  now 
published  everywhere,  that  the  ground  of  his  jealousy,  and  conse- 
quently of  his  assaulting  me,  was  drawn  from  the  confession  of  his 
wife  the  Lady  Ayres.  She,  to  vindicate  her  honour,  as  well  as 
free  me  from  this  accusation,  sent  a  letter  to  her  aunt  the  Lady 
Crook,  to  this  purpose :  That  her  husband  Sir  John  Ayres  did  lie 
falsely ;  but  most  falsely  of  all  did  lie  when  he  said  he  had  it  from 
her  confession,  for  she  had  never  said  any  such  thing. 

This  letter  the  Lady  Crook  presented  to  me  most  opportunely  as 
I  was  going  to  the  Council  table  before  the  Lords,  who  having 
examined  Sir  John  Ayres  concerning  the  cause  of  the  quarrel 
against  me,  found  him  still  persist  in  his  wife's  confession  of  the 
fact;  and  now  he  being  withdrawn,  I  was  sent  for,  when  the  Duke 
of  Lennox,  afterwards  of  Richmond,  telling  me  that  was  the  ground 
of  his  quarrel,  and  the  only  excuse  he  had  for  assaulting  me  in  that 
manner ;  I  desired  his  Lordship  to  peruse  the  letter,  which  I  told 
him  was  given  me  as  I  came  into  the  room.  This  letter  being 
publicly  read  by  a  clerk  of  the  Council,  the  Duke  of  Lennox  then 
said,  that  he  thought  Sir  John  Ayres  the  most  miserable  man 
living;  for  his  wife  had  not  only  given  him  the  lie,  as  he  found  by 


THE  FIGHT  WITH  SIR  JOHN  AYRES  23 

her  letter,  but  his  father  had  disinherited  him  for  attempting  to  kill 
me  in  that  barbarous  fashion,  which  was  most  true,  as  I  found 
afterwards.  For  the  rest,  that  I  might  content  myself  with  what 
I  had  done,  it  being  more  almost  than  could  be  believed,  but  that 
I  had  so  many  witnesses  thereof ;  for  all  which  reasons  he  com- 
manded me,  in  the  name  of  his  Majesty  and  all  their  Lordships, 
not  to  send  any  more  to  Sir  John  Ayres,  nor  to  receive  any  message 
from  him,  in  the  way  of  fighting,  which  commandment  I  observed. 
Howbeit  I  must  not  omit  to  tell,  that  some  years  afterwards,  Sir 
John  Ayres,  returning  from  Ireland  by  Beaumaris,  where  I  then 
was,  some  of  my  servants  and  followers  broke  open  the  doors  of  the 
house  where  he  was,  and  would,  I  believe,  have  cut  him  into 
pieces,  but  that  I,  hearing  thereof,  came  suddenly  to  the  house  and 
recalled  them,  sending  him  word  also,  that  I  scorned  to  give  him 
the  usage  he  gave  me,  and  that  I  would  set  him  free  out  of  the  town ; 
which  courtesy  of  mine,  as  I  was  told  afterwards,  he  did  thankfully 
acknowledge. 


SAMUEL   PEPYS 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DIARY 

[From  Memoirs  of  Samuel  Pepys,  Esq.,  F.  R.  S.,  comprising  his  Diary 
from  1659  to  1669.  First  edited  by  Lord  Braybrooke,  1825;  edited,  with 
additions,  by  H.  B.  Wheatley,  1893-99. 

PEPYS,  SAMUEL  (1633-1703),  diarist;  son  of  John  Pepys,  a  London 
tailor,  was  educated  at  St.  Paul's  School,  London,  and  Trinity  Hall  and 
Magdalene  College,  Cambridge;  M.  A.,  1660;  entered  the  family  of  his 
father's  first  cousin,  Sir  Edward  Montagu  (afterwards  first  Earl  of  Sand- 
wich) [q.  v.],  1656;  'clerk  of  the  king's  ships'  and  a  clerk  of  the  privy  seal, 
1660;  surveyor-general  of  the  victualling  office,  1665,  in  which  capacity  he 
showed  himself  an  energetic  official  and  a  zealous  reformer  of  abuses;  com- 
mitted to  the  Tower  of  London  on  charge  of  complicity  with  the  popish 
plot,  and  deprived  of  his  offices,  1679,  but  released,  1680;  secretary  of  the 
admiralty,  1686;  deprived  of  the  secretaryship  of  the  admiralty  at  the  revo- 
lution, after  which  he  lived  in  retirement,  chiefly  at  Clapham.  Fifty  volumes 
of  his  manuscripts  are  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  Oxford.  His  'Diary*  re- 
mained in  cipher  in  Magdalene  College,  Cambridge,  until  1825,  when  it  was 
deciphered  by  John  Smith  and  edited  by  Lord  Braybrooke.  An  enlarged 
edition  by  Mynors  Bright  [q.  v.]  appeared  in  1875-9,  and  the  whole,  except 
a  few  passages  which  cannot  be  printed,  was  published  in  eight  volumes 
(1893,  &c.)  by  Mr.  Henry  B.  Wheatley.  —  Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N.  B. 


24  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

"Now,  if  ever,  we  should  be  able  to  form  some  notion  of  that  unparalleled 
figure  in  the  annals  of  mankind  —  unparalleled  for  three  good  reasons: 
first,  because  he  was  a  man  known  to  his  contemporaries  in  a  halo  of  almost 
historical  pomp,  and  to  his  remote  descendants  with  an  indecent  familiarity, 
like  a  taproom  comrade ;  second,  because  he  has  outstripped  all  competitors 
in  the  art  or  virtue  of  a  conscious  honesty  about  one's  self;  and,  third,  be- 
cause, being  in  many  ways  a  very  ordinary  person,  he  has  yet  placed  himself 
before  the  public  eye  with  such  a  fulness  and  such  an  intimacy  of  detail  as 
might  be  envied  by  a  genius  like  Montaigne.  Not  then  for  his  own  sake 
only,  but  as  a  character  in  a  unique  position,  endowed  with  a  unique  talent, 
and  shedding  a  unique  light  upon  the  lives  of  the  mass  of  mankind,  he  is 
surely  worthy  of  prolonged  and  patient  study.  .  .  . 

"The  whole  world,  town  or  country,  was  to  Pepys  a  garden  of  Armida. 
Wherever  he  went,  his  steps  were  winged  with  the  most  eager  expectation; 
whatever  he  did,  it  was  done  with  the  most  lively  pleasure.  An  insatiable 
curiosity  in  all  the  shows  of  the  world  and  all  the  secrets  of  knowledge, 
filled  him  brimful  of  the  longing  to  travel,  and  supported  him  in  the  toils  of 
study.  Rome  was  the  dream  of  his  life;  he  was  never  happier  than  when  he 
read  or  talked  of  the  Eternal  City.  When  he  was  in  Holland,  he  was  'with 
child'  to  see  any  strange  thing.  Meeting  some  friends  and  singing  with 
them  in  a  palace  near  the  Hague,  his  pen  fails  him  to  express  his  passion  of 
delight,  'the  more  so  because  in  a  heaven  of  pleasure  and  in  a  strange  coun- 
try.' He  must  go  to  see  all  famous  executions.  He  must  needs  visit  the 
body  of  a  murdered  man,  defaced  'with  a  broad  wound,'  he  says,  'that 
makes  my  hand  now  shake  to  write  of  it.'  He  learned  to  dance,  and  was 
'like  to  make  a  dancer.'  He  learned  to  sing,  and  walked  about  Gray's 
Inn  Fields  'humming  to  myself  (which  is  now  my  constant  practice)  the 
trillo.'  He  learned  to  play  the  lute,  the  flute,  the  flageolet,  and  the  theorbo, 
and  it  was  not  the  fault  of  his  intention  if  he  did  not  learn  the  harpsichord 
or  the  spinet.  He  learned  to  compose  songs,  and  burned  to  give  forth  'a 
scheme  and  theory  of  music  not  yet  ever  made  in  the  world.'  When  he 
heard  'a  fellow  whistle  like  a  bird  exceeding  well,'  he  promised  to  return 
another  day  and  give  an  angel  for  a  lesson  in  J;he  art.  Once,  he  writes,  'I 
took  the  Bezan  back  with  me,  and  with  a  brave  gale  and  tide  reached  up 
that  night  to  the  Hope,  taking  great  pleasure  in  learning  the  seamen's 
manner  of  singing  when  they  sound  the  depths.'  If  he  found  himself  rusty 
in  his  Latin  grammar,  he  must  fall  to  it  like  a  schoolboy.  He  was  a  member 
of  Harrington's  Club  till  its  dissolution,  and  of  the  Royal  Society  before  it 
had  received  the  name.  Boyle's  'Hydrostatics'  was  'of  infinite  delight' 
to  him,  walking  in  Barnes  Elms.  We  find  him  comparing  Bible  concord- 
ances, a  captious  judge  of  sermons,  deep  in  Descartes  and  Aristotle.  We 
find  him,  in  a  single  year,  studying  timber  and  the  measurement  of  timber; 
tar  and  oil,  hemp,  and  the  process  of  preparing  cordage;  mathematics  and 
accounting;  the  hull  and  the  rigging  of  ships  from  a  model;  and  'looking 
and  improving  himself  of  the  (naval)  stores  with'  —  hark  to  the  fellow!  — 
'great  delight.'  His  familiar  spirit  of  delight  was  not  the  same  with  Shel- 
ley's; but  how  true  it  was  to  him  through  life!  He  is  only  copying  some- 
thing, and  behold,  he  'takes  great  pleasure  to  rule  the  lines,  and  have  the 
capital  words  wrote  with  red  ink;'  he  has  only  had  his  coal-cellar  emptied 
and  cleaned,  and  behold,  'it  do  please  him  exceedingly.'  A  hog's  harslett 
is  'a  piece  of  meat  he  loves.'  He  cannot  ride  home  in  my  Lord  Sandwich's 
coach,  but  he  must  exclaim  with  breathless  gusto,  'his  noble,  rich  coach.' 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  DIARY  25 

When  he  is  bound  for  a  supper  party,  he  anticipates  a  'glut  of  pleasure.' 
When  he  has  a  new  watch,  'to  see  my  childishness,'  says  he,  'I  could  not 
forbear  carrying  it  in  my  hand  and  seeing  what  o'clock  it  was  an  hundred 
times.'  To  go  to  Vauxhall,  he  says,  and  'to  hear  the  nightingales  and  other 
birds,  hear  fiddles,  and  there  a  harp  and  here  a  Jew's  trump,  and  here  laugh- 
ing, and  there  fine  people  walking,  is  mighty  divertizing.'  And  the  night- 
ingales, I  take  it,  were  particularly  dear  to  him;  and  it  was  again  'with 
great  pleasure'  that  he  paused  to  hear  them  as  he  walked  to  Woolwich, 
while  the  fog  was  rising  and  the  April  sun  broke  through."  —  ROBERT  Louis 
STEVENSON,  "Samuel  Pepys,"  in  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books,  1882. 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York.] 

April  8th,  1661.  About  eight  o'clock,  we  took  barge  at  the 
Tower,  Sir  William  Batten  and  his  lady,  Mrs.  Turner,  Mr.  Fowler, 
and  I.  A  very  pleasant  passage,  and  so  to  Gravesend,  where  we 
dined,  and  from  thence  a  coach  took  them,  and  me  and  Mr.  Fowler, 
with  some  others,  come  from  Rochester  to  meet  us,  on  horseback. 
At  Rochester,  where  alight  at  Mr.  Alcock's,  and  there  drank,  and 
had  good  sport,  with  his  bringing  out  so  many  sorts  of  cheese. 
Then  to  the  Hill-house  at  Chatham,  where  I  never  was  before,  and 
I  found  a  pretty  pleasant  house,  and  am  pleased  with  the  armes  that 
hang  up  there.  Here  we  supped  very  merry,  and  late  to  bed ;  Sir 
William  telling  me  that  old  Edgeborrow,  his  predecessor,  did  die 
and  walk  in  my  chamber,  did  make  me  somewhat  afraid,  but  not 
so  much  as,  for  mirth  sake,  I  did  seem.  So  to  bed,  in  the  Treas- 
urer's chamber. 

9th.  Lay  and  slept  well  till  three  in  the  morning,  and  then 
waking,  and  by  the  light  "of  the  moon  I  saw  my  pillow  (which 
overnight  I  flung  from  me)  stand  upright,  but,  not  bethinking 
myself  what  it  might  be,  I  was  a  little  afraid,  but  sleep  overcome 
all,  and  so  lay  till  nigh  morning,  at  which  time  I  had  a  candle 
brought  me,  and  a  good  fire  made,  and  in  general  it  was  a  great 
pleasure  all  the  time  I  staid  here  to  see  how  I  am  respected  and 
honoured  by  all  people ;  and  I  find  that  I  begin  to  know  now  how  to 
receive  so  much  reverence,  which,  at  the  beginning,  I  could  not  tell 
how  to  do.  Sir  William  and  I  by  coach  to  the  dock,  and  there 
viewed  all  the  storehouses,  and  the  old  goods  that  are  this  day  to  be 
sold,  which  was  great  pleasure  to  me,  and  so  back  again  by  coach 
home,  where  we  had  a  good  dinner,  and,  among  other  strangers  that 
come,  there  was  Mr.  Hempson  and  his  wife,  a  pretty  woman,  and 
speaks  Latin;  Mr.  Allen,  and  two  daughters  of  his,  both  very  tall, 


26  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

and  the  youngest1  very  handsome,  so  much  as  I  could  not  forbear  to 
love  her  exceedingly,  having,  among  other  things,  the  best  hand  that 
ever  I  saw.  After  dinner,  we  went  to  fit  books  and  things  (Tom 
Hater  having  this  morning  come  to  us)  for  the  sale,  by  an  inch  of 
candle,  and  very  good  sport  we  and  the  ladies  that  stood  by  had,  to 
see  the  people  bid.  Among  other  things  sold  there  was  all  the 
State's  armes,2  which  Sir  W.  Batten  bought;  intending  to  set  up 
some  of  the  images  in  his  garden,  and  the  rest  to  burn  on  the  Coro- 
nation night.  The  sale  being  done,  the  ladies  and  I,  and  Captain 
Pitt,  and  Mr.  Castle  took  barge,  and  down  we  went  to  see  the 
Sovereigne  which  we  did,  taking  great  pleasure  therein,  sing- 
ing all  the  way,  and  among  other  pleasures,  I  put  my  Lady, 
Mrs.  Turner,  Mrs.  Hempson,  and  the  two  Mrs.  Aliens,  into 
the  lanthorn,  and  I  went  in  and  kissed  them,  demanding  it 
as  a  fee  due  to  a  principall  officer,  with  all  which  we  were 
exceeding  merry,  and  drunk  some  bottles  of  wine,  and  neat's 
tongue,  &c.  Then  back  again  home,  and  so  supped,  and, 
after  much  mirth,  to  bed. 

loth.  In  the  morning  to  see  the  Dock-houses.  First,  Mr.  Pett's, 
the  builder,  and  there  was  very  kindly  received,  and  among  other 
things  he  did  offer  my  Lady  Batten  a  parrot,  the  best  I  ever  saw, 
that  knew  Mingo  so  soon  as  it  saw  him,  having  been  bred  formerly 
in  the  house  with  them ;  but  for  talking  and  singing  I  never  heard 
the  like.  My  Lady  did  accept  of  it.  Then  to  see  Commissioner 
Pett's  house,  he  and  his  family  being  absent,  and  here  I  wondered 
how  my  Lady  Batten  walked  up  and  down  with  curious  looks  to  see 
how  neat  and  rich  everything  is;  and  indeed  both  the  house  and 
garden  is  most  handsome,  saying  that  she  would  get  it,  for  it  be- 
longed formerly  to  the  Surveyor  of  the  Navy.  Then  on  board  the 
Prince,  now  in  the  dock,  and  indeed  it  has  one  and  no  more  rich 
cabins  for  carved  work,  but  no  gold  in  her.  After  that,  back  home, 
and  there  eat  a  little  dinner.  Then  to  Rochester,  and  there  saw 
the  Cathedrall,  which  is  now  fitting  for  use,  and  the  organ  then 
a-tuning.  Then  away  thence,  observing  the  great  doors  of  the 
church,  as  they  say,  covered  with  the  skins  of  the  Danes.  And 
also  had  much  mirth  at  a  tombe.  So  to  the  Salutacione  tavern, 
where  Mr.  Alcock  and  many  of  the  towne  come  and  entertained 
1  Rebecca.  2  i.e.  Coats  of  arms. 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  DIARY  27 

us  with  wine  and  oysters  and  other  things,  and  hither  come  Sir 
John  Minnes  to  us,  who  is  come  to-day  from  London  to  see  "  the 
Henery,"  in  which  he  intends  to  ride  as  Vice-Admiral  in  the 
narrow  seas  all  this  summer.  Here  much  mirth,  but  I  was  a  little 
troubled  to  stay  too  long,  because  of  going  to  Hempson's,  which 
afterwards  we  did,  and  found  it  in  all  things  a  most  pretty  house, 
and  rarely  furnished,  only  it  had  a  most  ill  accesse  on  all  sides 
to  it,  which  is  a  greatest  fault  that,  I  think,  can  be  in  a  house. 
Here  we  had,  for  my  sake,  two  fiddles,  the  one  a  base  viall,  on 
which  he  that  played,  played  well  some  lyra  lessons,  but  both 
together  made  the  worst  musique  that  ever  I  heard.  We  had 
a  fine  collacion,  but  I  took  little  pleasure  in  that,  for  the  illness 
of  the  musique,  and  for  the  intentnesse  of  my  mind  upon  Mrs. 
Rebecca  Allen.  After  we  had  done  eating,  the  ladies  went  to 
dance,  and  among  the  men  we  had,  I  was  forced  to  dance,  too; 
and  did  make  an  ugly  shift.  Mrs.  R.  Allen  danced  very  well, 
and  seems  the  best  humoured  woman  that  ever  I  saw.  About 
nine  o'clock  Sir  William  and  my  Lady  went  home,  and  we  con- 
tinued dancing  an  houre  or  two,  and  so  broke  up  very  pleasant 
and  merry,  and  so  walked  home,  I  leading  Mrs.  Rebecca,  who 
seemed,  I  know  not  why,  in  that  and  other  things,  to  be  desirous 
of  my  favours,  and  would  in  all  things  show  me  respects.  Going 
home,  she  would  needs  have  me  sing,  and  I  did  pretty  well,  and 
was  highly  esteemed  by  them.  So  to  Captain  Allen's  (where  we 
was  last  night,  and  heard  him  play  on  the  harpsichon,  and  I  find 
him  to  be  a  perfect  good  musician),  and  there,  having  no  mind 
to  leave  Mrs.  Rebecca,  I  did  what  with  talk  and  singing  (her  father 
and  I),  Mrs.  Turner  and  I  staid  there  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  was  most  exceeding  merry,  and  I  had  the  opportunity  of 
kissing  Mrs.  Rebecca  very  often. 

nth.  At  two  o'clock,  with  very  great  mirth,  we  went  to  our 
lodging  and  to  bed,  and  lay  till  seven,  and  then  called  up  by 
Sir  W.  Batten;  so  I  rose,  and  we  did  some  business,  and  then 
come  Captain  Allen,  and  he  and  I  withdrew,  and  sang  a  song 
or  two,  and  among  others,  took  great  pleasure  in  "  Goe  and  bee 
hanged,  that's  twice  good  bye."  The  young  ladies  come  too, 
and  so  I  did  again  please  myself  with  Mrs.  Rebecca;  and  about 
nine  o'clock,  after  we  had  breakfasted,  we  sett  forth  for  London, 


28  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

and  indeed  I  was  a  little  troubled  to  part  with  Mrs.  Rebecca, 
for  which  God  forgive  me.  Thus  we  went  away  through 
Rochester.  We  baited  at  Dartford,  and  thence  to  London, 
but  of  all  the  journeys  that  ever  I  made,  this  was  the  merriest, 
and  I  was  in  a  strange  mode  for  mirth.  Among  other  things, 
I  got  my  Lady  to  let  her  mayd,  Mrs.  Anne,  to  ride  all  the  way 
on  horseback,  and  she  rides  exceeding  well;  and  so  I  called 
[her]  my  clerk,  that  she  went  to  wait  upon  me.  I  met  two  little 
schoolboys  going  with  pichers  of  ale  to  their  schoolmaster  to 
break  up  against  Easter,  and  I  did  drink  of  some  of  one  of 
them,  and  give  him  two-pence.  By  and  by,  we  come  to  two 
little  girls  keeping  cowes,  and  I  saw  one  of  them  very  pretty, 
so  I  had  a  mind  to  make  her  aske  my  blessing,  and  telling  her 
that  I  was  her  godfather,  she  asked  me  innocently  whether  I 
was  not  Ned  Warding,  and  I  said  that  I  was,  so  she  kneeled 
down,  and  very  simply  called,  "  Pray,  godfather,  pray  to  God 
to  bless  me,"  which  made  us  very  merry,  and  I  gave  her  two- 
pence. In  several  places,  I  asked  women  whether  they  would 
sell  me  their  children,  but  they  denied  me  all,  but  said  they 
would  give  me  one  to  keep  for  them,  if  I  would.  Mrs.  Anne 
and  I  rode  under  the  man  that  hangs  upon  Shooter's  Hill,  and 
a  filthy  sight  it  was  to  see  how  his  flesh  is  shrunk  to  his  bones. 
So  home,  and  I  found  all  well,  and  a  good  deal  of  work  done 
since  I  went.  So  to  bed  very  sleepy  for  last  night's  work,  con- 
cluding that  it  is  the  pleasantest  journey  in  all  respects  that 
ever  I  had  in  my  life. 


January  2d,  1665-6.  Up  by  candle-light  again,  and  my  busi- 
ness being  done,  to  my  Lord  Brouncker's,  and  there  find  Sir  J. 
Minnes  and  all  his  company,  and  Mr.  Boreman  and  Mrs.  Turner, 
but,  above  all,  my  dear  Mrs.  Knipp,  with  whom  I  sang,  and  in 
perfect  pleasure  I  was  to  hear  her  sing,  and  especially  her  little 
Scotch  song  of  "Barbary  Allen;"  and  to  make  our  mirth  the 
completer,  Sir  J.  Minnes  was  in  the  highest  pitch  of  mirth,  and  his 
mimicall  tricks,  that  ever  I  saw,  and  most  excellent  pleasant  com- 
pany he  is,  and  the  best  musique  that  ever  I  saw,  and  certainly 
would  have  made  an  excellent  actor,  and  now  would  be  an  excel- 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  DIARY  29 

lent  teacher  of  actors.     Then,  it  being  past  night,  against   my 
will,  took  leave. 


5th.  I  with  my  Lord  Brouncker  and  Mrs.  Williams  by  coach 
with  four  horses  to  London,  to  my  Lord's  house  in  Covent  Garden.1 
But,  Lord !  what  staring  to  see  a  nobleman's  coach  come  to  town  ! 
And  porters  every  where  bow  to  us ;  and  such  begging  of  beggars ! 
And  delightful  it  is  to  see  the  town  full  of  people  again ;  and  shops 
begin  to  open,  though  in  many  places  seven  or  eight  together, 
and  more,  all  shut ;  but  yet  the  town  is  full,  compared  with  what  it 
used  to  be.  I  mean  the  City  end:  for  Covent  Garden  and  West- 
minster are  yet  very  empty  of  people,  no  court  nor  gentry  being 
there.  Home,  thinking  to  get  Mrs.  Knipp,  but  could  not,  she  be- 
ing busy  with  company,  but  sent  me  a  pleasant  letter,  writing  her- 
self "Barbary  Allen."  Reading  a  discourse  about  the  river  of 
Thames,  the  reason  of  its  being  choked  up  in  several  places  with 
shelfes:  which  is  plain  is,  by  the  encroachments  made  upon  the 
River,  and  running  out  of  causeways  into  the  River,  at  every 
wood-wharfe :  which  was  not  heretofore,  when  Westminster  Hall 
and  White  Hall  were  built,  and  Redriffe  Church,  which  now  are 
sometimes  overflown  with  water.  • 

6th.  To  a  great  dinner  and  much  company.  Mr.  Cuttle  and  his 
lady  and  I  went,  hoping  to  get  Mrs.  Knipp  to  us,  having  wrote  a 
letter  to  her  in  the  morning,  calling  myself  " Dapper  Dicky,"  2  in 
answer  to  her's  of  "Barbary  Allen,"  but  could  not,  and  am  told  by 
the  boy  that  carried  my  letter,  that  he  found  her  crying ;  and  I  fear 
she  lives  a  sad  life  with  that  ill-natured  fellow  her  husband :  so  we 
had  a  great,  but  I  a  melancholy  dinner.  After  dinner  to  cards,  and 
then  comes  notice  that  my  wife  is  come  unexpectedly  to  me  to  town : 
so  I  to  her.  It  is  only  to  see  what  I  do,  and  why  I  come  not  home ; 
and  she  is  in  the  right  that  I  would  have  a  little  more  of  Mrs.  Knipp's 
company  before  I  go  away.  My  wife  to  fetch  away  my  things  from 
Woolwich,  and  I  back  to  cards,  and  after  cards  to  choose  King  and 
Queene,  and  a  good  cake  there  was,  but  no  marks  found ;  but  I 

1  In  the  Piazza;    and  one  of  the  largest  houses  in  what  was  then  the  most 
fashionable  part  of  London. 

2  A  song  called  "Dapper  Dick"  is  in  the  British  Museum;    it  begins,  "In  a 
barren  tree."     It  was  printed  in  1710. 


30  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

privately  found  the  clove,  the  mark  of  the  knave,  and  privately 
put  it  into  Captain  Cocke's  piece,  which  made  some  mirth,  because 
of  his  lately  being  known  by  his  buying  of  clove  and  mace  of  the 
East  India  prizes.  At  night  home  to  my  lodging,  where  I  find  my 
wife  returned  with  my  things.  It  being  Twelfth-Night,  they  had 
got  the  fiddler,  and  mighty  merry  they  were ;  and  I  above,  come  not 
to  them,  leaving  them  dancing,  and  choosing  King  and  Queene. 


*  Feb.  23d,  1665-6.  To  my  Lord  Sandwich's,  who  did  lie  last 
night  at  his  house  in  Lincoln's  Inne  Fields.  It  being  fine  walking 
in  the  morning,  and  the  streets  full  of  people  again.  There  I  staid, 
and  the  house  full  of  people  come  to  take  leave  of  my  Lord,  who  this 
day  goes  out  of  towne  upon  his  embassy  towards  Spain ;  and  I  was 
glad  to  find  Sir  W.  Coventry  to  come,  though  I  know  it  is  only 
a  piece  of  courtship.  To  Mr.  Hales's,  and  my  wife's  picture  pleases 
me  well,  and  I  begin  to  doubt  the  picture  of  my  Lady  Peters  my  wife 
takes  her  posture  from,  and  which  is  an  excellent  picture,  is  not  of 
his  making — it  is  so  master-like .  Comes  Mrs.  Knipp  to  see  my  wife , 
and  I  spend  all  the  night  talking  with  this  baggage,  and  teaching  her 
my  song  of  "Beauty,  retire,"  which  she  sings  and  makes  go  most 
rarely,  and  a  very  fine  song  it  seems  to  be.  She  also  entertained  me 
with  repeating  many  of  her  own  and  others'  parts  of  the  play-house, 
which  she  do  most  excellently;  and  tells  me  the  whole  practices  of 
the  play-house  and  players,  and  is  in  every  respect  most  excellent 
company.  So  I  supped,  and  was  merry  at  home  all  the  evening, 
and  the  rather  it  being  my  birthday  33  years,  for  which  God  be 
praised  that  I  am  in  so  good  a  condition  of  health  and  estate,  and 
everything  else  as  I  am,  beyond  expectation,  in  all. 


May  4th.  To  Mr.  Hales,  to  see  what  he  had  done  to  Mrs.  Pierce's 
picture,  and  whatever  he  pretends,  I  do  not  think  it  will  ever  be  so 
good  a  picture  as  my  wife's.  Thence  home  to  dinner,  and  had  a 
great  fray  with  my  wife  about  Browne's  coming  to  teach  her  to  paint, 
and  sitting  with  me  at  table,  which  I  will  not  yield  to.  I  do  thor- 
oughly believe  she  means  no  hurt  in  it;  but  very  angry  we  were, 
and  I  resolved  all  into  my  having  my  will  done,  without  disputing, 


EXTRACTS  FROM    THE  DIARY  31 

be  the  reason  what  it  will ;  and  so  I  will  have  it.  This  evening, 
being  weary  of  my  late  idle  courses,  I  bound  myself  to  very  strict 
rules  till  Whitsunday  next. 

5th.  It  being  a  very  fine  moonshine,  my  wife  and  Mercer  come 
into  the  garden,  and,  my  business  being  done,  we  sang  till  about 
twelve  at  night,  with  mighty  pleasure  to  ourselves  and  neighbours, 
by  their  casements  opening. 

******* 

9th.  To  White  Hall,  and  heard  the  Duke  commend  Deane's  ship, 
"The  Rupert,"  before  "The  Defyance,"  built  by  Castle,  in  hear- 
ing of  Sir  W.  Batten,  which  pleased  me  mightily.  To  Pierce's, 
where  I  find  Knipp.  Thence  with  them  to  Cornhill,  to  call  and 
choose  a  chimneypiece  for  Pierce's  closet.  My  wife  mightily  vexed 
at  my  being  abroad  with  these  women ;  and,  when  they  were  gone, 
called  them  I  know  not  what,  which  vexed  me,  having  been  so 
innocent  with  them. 


1 2th.  I  find  my  wife  troubled  at  my  checking  her  last  night  in 
the  coach,  in  her  long  stories  out  of  Grand  Cyrus,  which  she  would 
tell,  though  nothing  to  the  purpose,  nor  in  any  good  manner.1 
This  she  took  unkindly,  and  I  think  I  was  to  blame  indeed ;  but 
she  do  find  with  reason,  that,  in  the  company  of  Pierce,  Knipp,  or 
other  women  that  I  love,  I  do  not  value  her,  or  mind  her  as  I  ought. 
However,  very  good  friends  by  and  by.  .  .  . 

i3th.  (Lord's  day.)  To  Westminster,  and  into  St.  Margett's 
Church,  where  I  heard  a  young  man  play  the  fool  upon  the  doctrine 
of  Purgatory. 

******* 

May  2 gth.  King's  birthday,  and  Restoration  day.  Waked  with 
the  ringing  of  bells  all  over  the  town:  so  up  before  five  o'clock 

1  Sir  Walter  Scott  observes,  in  his  Life  of  Dryden,  that  the  romances  of  Cal- 
prenede  and  Scuderi,  those  ponderous  and  unmerciful  folios,  now  consigned  to 
oblivion,  were,  in  their  day,  not  only  universally  read  and  admired,  but  supposed 
to  furnish  the  most  perfect  models  of  gallantry  and  heroism.  Dr.  Johnson  read 
them  all.  "I  have,"  says  Mrs.  Chapone,  "and  yet  I  am  still  alive,  dragged 
through  'Le  Grand  Cyrus,'  in  twelve  huge  volumes;  'Cleopatra/  in  eight  or  ten; 
'Ibrahim,'  'Clelie,'  and  some  others,  whose  names,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  them, 
I  have  forgotten."  (Letters  to  Mrs.  Carter.)  No  wonder  that  Pepys  sat  on 
thorns,  when  his  wife  began  to  recite  "Le  Grand  Cyrus"  in  the  coach,  "and 
trembled  at  the  impending  tale."  —  BRAYBROOKE. 


32  SAMUEL   PEPYS 

and  to  the  office.     At  noon  I  did,  upon  a  small  invitation  of 
Sir  W.  Pen's,  go  and  dine  with  Sir  W.  Coventry  at  his  office, 
where  great  good  cheer,  and  many  pleasant  stories  of  Sir  W. 
Coventry.     After  dinner,  to  the  Victualling  Office;    and  there, 
beyond  belief,  did  acquit  myself  very  well  to  full  content;  so  that, 
beyond  expectation,  I  got  over  that  second  rub  in  this  business; 
and  if  ever  I  fall  on  it  again,  I  deserve  to  be  undone.     My  wife 
comes  to  me,  to  tell  me,  that  if  I  would  see  the  handsomest  woman 
in  England,  I  shall  come  home  presently;   and  who  should  it  be 
but  the  pretty  lady  of  our  parish,  that  did  heretofore  sit  on  the  other 
side  of  our  church,  over  against  our  gallery,  that  is  since  married  — 
she  with  Mrs.  Anne  Jones,  one  of  this  parish,  that  dances  finely. 
And  so  I  home;   and  indeed  she  is  a  pretty  black  woman  —  her 
name  Mrs.  Horsely.     But,  Lord !  to  see  how  my  nature  could  not 
refrain  from  the  temptation ;  but  I  must  invite  them  to  go  to  Fox- 
hall,  to  Spring  Gardens,  though  I  had  freshly  received  minutes  of  a 
great  deal  of  extraordinary  business.    However,  I  sent  them  before 
with  Creed,  and  I  did  some  of  my  business;  and  so  after  them, 
and  find  them  there,  in  an  arbour,  and  had  met  with  Mrs.  Pierce, 
and  some  company  with  her.    So  here  I  spent  20$.  upon  them,  and 
were  pretty  merry.     Among  other  things,  had  a  fellow  that  imitated 
all  manner  of  birds,  and  dogs,  and  hogs,  with  his  voice,  which  was 
mighty  pleasant.    Staid  here  till  night :  then  set  Mrs. Pierce  in  at  the 
New  Exchange ;  and  ourselves  took  coach,  and  so  set  Mrs.  Horsely 
home,  and  then  home  ourselves,  but  with  great  trouble  in  the  streets, 
by  bonfires,  it  being  the  King's  birthday  and  day  of  Restoration ; 
but,  Lord  !  to  see  the  difference  how  many  there  were  on  the 
other  side,  and  so  few  on  ours,  the  City  side  of  the  Temple,  would 
make  one  wonder  the  difference  between  the  temper  of  one  sort  of 
people  and  the  other :  and  the  difference  among  all  between  what 
they  do  now,  and  what  it  was  the  night  when  Monk  come  into 
the  City.    Such  a  night  as  that  I  never  think  to  see  again,  nor  think 
it  can  be. 

******* 

March  2d,  1667.   After  dinner,  with  my  wife,  to  the  King's 

house  to  see  "The  Maiden  Queene,"  a  new  play  of  Dryden's, 

mightily  commended  for  the  regularity  of  it,  and  the  strain  and 

wit;    and,    the    truth    is,    there    is    a    comical    part    done    by 


EXTRACTS  FROM    THE  DIARY  33 

Nell,1  which  is  Florimell,  that  I  never  can  hope  ever  to  see  the  like 
done  again,  by  man  or  woman.  The  King  and  Duke  of  York  were 
at  the  play.  But  so  great  performance  of  a  comical  part  was 
never,  I  believe,  in  the  world  before  as  Nell  do  this,  both  as  a 
mad  girle,  then  most  and  best  of  all  when  she  comes  in  like  a 
young  gallant;  and  hath  the  motions  and  carriage  of  a  spark 
the  most  that  ever  I  saw  any  man  have.  It  makes  me,  I  con- 
fess, admire  her. 


March  3d,  1668.  Up  betimes  to  work  again,  and  then  met  at 
the  Office,  where  to  our  great  business  of  this  answer  to  the  Par- 
liament; where  to  my  great  vexation  I  find  my  Lord  Brouncker 
prepared  only  to  excuse  himself,  while  I,  that  have  least  reason 
to  trouble  myself,  am  preparing  with  great  pains  to  defend  them 
all:  and  more,  I  perceive,  he  would  lodge  the  beginning  of  dis- 
charging ships  by  ticket  upon  me :  but  I  care  not,  for  I  believe  I 
shall  get  more  honour  by  it  when  the  Parliament,  against  my 
will,  shall  see  how  the  whole  business  of  the  Office  was  done  by 
me.  I  with  my  clerks  to  dinner,  and  thence  presently  down  with 
Lord  Brouncker,  W.  Pen,  T.  Harvey,  T.  Middleton,  and  Mr. 
Tippets,  who  first  took  his  place  this  day  at  the  table,  as  a  Com- 
missioner, in  the  room  of  Commissioner  Pett.  Down  by  water 
to  Deptford,  where  the  King,  Queen,  and  Court  are  to  see  launched 
the  new  ship  built  by  Mr.  Shish,  called  "The  Charles."  God 
send  her  better  luck  than  the  former !  Here  some  of  our  breth- 
ren, who  went  in  a  boat  a  little  before  my  boat,  did  by  appoint- 
ment take  opportunity  of  asking  the  King's  leave  that  we  might 
make  full  use  of  the  want  of  money,  in  our  excuse  to  the  Parlia- 
ment for  the  business  of  tickets,  and  other  things  they  will  lay 
to  our  charge,  all  which  arise  from  nothing  else:  and  this  the 
King  did  readily  agree  to,  and  did  give  us  leave  to  make  our  full 
use  of  it.  The  ship  being  well  launched,  I  back  again  by  boat. 

4th.  Vexed  and  sickish  to  bed,  and  there  slept  about  three 
hours,  but  then  waked,  and  never  in  so  much  trouble  in  all  my 
life  of  mind,  thinking  of  the  task  I  have  upon  me,  and  upon  what 
dissatisfactory  grounds,  and  what  the  issue  of  it  may  be  to  me. 

1  Nell  Gwynne. 


34  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

5th.  With  these  thoughts  I  lay  troubling  myself  till  six  o'clock, 
restless,  and  at  last  getting  my  wife  to  talk  to  me  to  comfort 
me,  which  she  at  last  did,  and  made  me  resolve  to  quit  my 
hands  of  this  Office,  and  endure  the  trouble  no  longer  than  till 
I  can  clear  myself  of  it.  So  with  great  trouble,  but  yet  with 
some  ease,  from  this  discourse  with  my  wife,  I  up,  and  at 
my  Office,  whither  come  my  clerks,  and  so  I  did  huddle  the 
best  I  could  some  more  notes  for  my  discourse  to-day,  and  by 
nine  o'clock  was  ready,  and  did  go  down  to  the  Old  Swan,  and 
there  by  boat,  with  T.  Harvey  and  W.  Hewer  with  me,  to  West- 
minster, where  I  found  myself  come  time  enough,  and  my 
brethren  all  ready.  But  I  full  of  thoughts  and  trouble  touching 
the  issue  of  this  day;  and,  to  comfort  myself,  did  go  to  the  Dog 
and  drink  half-a-pint  of  mulled  sack,  and  in  the  Hall  [West- 
minster] did  drink  a  dram  of  brandy  at  Mrs.  Hewlett's;  and 
with  the  warmth  of  this  did  find  myself  in  better  order  as  to 
courage,  truly.  So  we  all  up  to  the  lobby;  and,  between  eleven 
or  twelve  o'clock,  were  called  in,  with  the  mace  before  us,  into 
the  House,  where  a  mighty  full  House :  and  we  stood  at  the  bar, 
namely,  Brouncker,  Sir  J.  Minnes,  Sir  T.  Harvey,  and  myself, 
W.  Pen  being  in  the  House,  as  a  Member.  I  perceive  the  whole 
House  was  full  of  expectation  of  our  defence  what  it  would  be, 
and  with  great  prejudice.  After  tne  Speaker  had  told  us  the 
dissatisfaction  of  the  House,  and  read  the  Report  of  the  Committee, 
I  began  our  defence  most  acceptably  and  smoothly,  and  continued 
at  it  without  any  hesitation  or  losse,  but  with  full  scope,  and  all 
my  reason  free  about  me,  as  if  it  had  been  at  my  own  table,  from 
that  time  till  passed  three  in  the  afternoon ;  and  so  ended,  with- 
out any  interruption  from  the  Speaker;  but  we  withdrew.  And 
there  all  my  Fellow-Officers,  and  all  the  world  that  was  within 
hearing,  did  congratulate  me,  and  cry  up  my  speech  as  the  best 
thing  they  ever  heard;  and  my  Fellow-Officers  were  overjoyed 
in  it;  and  we  were  called  in  again  by  and  by  to  answer  only 
one  question,  touching  our  paying  tickets  to  ticket-mongers; 
and  so  out;  and  we  were  in  hopes  to  have  had  a  vote  this  day 
in  our  favour,  and  so  the  generality  of  the  House  was;  but  my 
speech,  being  so  long,  many  had  gone  out  to  dinner  and  come 
in  again  half-drunk;  and  then  there  are  two  or  three  that  are 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  DIARY  35 

professed  enemies  to  us  and  every  body  else;  among  others, 
Sir  T.  Littleton,  Sir  Thomas  Lee,  Mr.  Wiles,  the  coxcomb  whom 
I  saw  heretofore  at  the  cock-fighting,  and  a  few  others ;  I  say, 
these  did  rise  up  and  speak  against  the  coming  to  a  vote  now, 
the  House  not  being  full,  by  reason  of  several  being  at  dinner, 
but  most  because  that  the  House  was  to  attend  the  King  this 
afternoon,  about  the  business  of  religion,  wherein  they  pray 
him  to  put  in  force  all  the  laws  against  Nonconformists  and 
Papists ;  and  this  prevented  it,  so  that  they  put  it  off  to  to-morrow 
come  se'nnight.  However,  it  is  plain  we  have  got  great  ground, 
and  every  body  says  I  have  got  the  most  honour  that  any  could 
have  had  opportunity  of  getting;  and  so  our  hearts  mightily 
overjoyed  at  this  success.  We  all  to  dinner  to  my  Lord 
Brouncker's  —  that  is  to  say,  myself,  T.  Harvey,  and  W.  Pen,  and 
there  dined;  and  thence  with  Sir  Anthony  Morgan,  who  is  an 
acquaintance  of  Brouncker's,  a  very  wise  man,  we  after  dinner 
to  the  King's  house,  and  there  saw  part  of  "The  Discontented 
Colonel."  To  my  wife,  whom  W.  Hewer  had  told  of  my  success, 
and  she  overjoyed;  and,  after  talking  awhile,  I  betimes  to  bed, 
having  had  no  quiet  rest  a  good  while. 

6th.  Up  betimes,  and  with  Sir  D.  Gauden  to  Sir  W.  Coventry's 
chamber:  where  the  first  word  he  said  to  me  was,  "Good-morrow, 
Mr.  Pepys,  that  must  be  Speaker  of  the  Parliament-house : " 
and  did  protest  I  had  got  honour  for  ever  in  Parliament.  He 
said  that  his  brother,  that  sat  by  him,  admires  me ;  and  another 
gentleman  said  that  I  could  not  get  less  than  £1000  a-year,  if  I 
would  put  on  a  gown  and  plead  at  the  Chancery-bar ;  but,  what 
pleases  me  most,  he  tells  me  that  the  Solicitor-General  did  pro- 
test that  he  thought  I  spoke  the  best  of  any  man  in  England. 
After  several  talks  with  him  alone  touching  his  own  businesses, 
he  carried  me  to  White  Hall,  and  there  parted;  and  I  to  the 
Duke  of  York's  lodgings,  and  find  him  going  to  the  Park,  it  be- 
ing a  very  fine  morning,  and  I  after  him ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
me,  he  told  me,  with  great  satisfaction,  that  I  had  converted  a 
great  many  yesterday,  and  did,  with  great  praise  of  me,  go  on 
with  the  discourse  with  me.  And,  by  and  by,  overtaking  the 
King,  the  King  and  Duke  of  York  came  to  me  both;  and  he 
said,  "Mr.  Pepys,  I  am  very  glad  of  your  success  yesterday;" 


36  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

and  fell  to  talk  of  my  well  speaking ;  and  many  of  the  Lords 
there.  My  Lord  Barkeley  did  cry  me  up  for  what  they  had 
heard  of  it;  and  others,  Parliament-men  there,  about  the  King, 
did  say  that  they  never  heard  such  a  speech  in  their  lives  de- 
livered in  that  manner.  Progers,  of  the  Bedchamber,  swore  to 
me  afterwards  before  Brouncker,  in  the  afternoon,  that  he  did 
tell  the  King  that  he  thought  I  might  match  the  Solicitor-General. 
Every  body  that  saw  me  almost  came  to  me,  as  Joseph  William- 
son and  others,  with  such  eulogys  as  cannot  be  expressed. 
From  thence  I  went  to  Westminster  Hall,  where  I  met  Mr. 
G.  Montagu,  who  came  to  me  and  kissed  me,  and  told  me 
that  he  had  often  heretofore  kissed  my  hands,  but  now  he 
would  kiss  my  lips:  protesting  that  I  was  another  Cicero, 
and  said,  all  the  world  said  the  same  of  me.  Mr.  Ash- 
burnham,  and  every  creature  I  met  there  of  the  Parliament, 
or  that  knew  any  thing  of  the  Parliament's  actings,  did  salute 
me  with  this  honour:  —  Mr.  Godolphin;  —  Mr.  Sands,  who 
swore  he  would  go  twenty  miles,  at  any  time,  to  hear  the  like 
again,  and  that  he  never  saw  so  many  sit  four  hours  together  to 
hear  any  man  in  his  life  as  there  did  to  hear  me.  Mr.  Chichly,  — 
Sir  John  Duncomb,  —  and  everybody  do  say  that  the  kingdom 
will  ring  of  my  abilities,  and  that  I  have  done  myself  right  for 
my  whole  life :  and  so  Captain  Cocke,  and  others  of  my  friends, 
say  that  no  man  had  ever  such  an  opportunity  of  making  his 
abilities  known;  and,  that  I  may  cite  all  at  once,  Mr.  Lieutenant 
of  the  Tower  did  tell  me  that  Mr.  Vaughan  did  protest  to  him, 
and  that,  in  his  hearing,  he  said  so  to  the  Duke  of  Albemarle, 
and  afterwards  to  Sir  W.  Coventry,  that  he  had  sat  twenty-six 
years  in  Parliament,  and  never  heard  such  a  speech  there  before : 
for  which  the  Lord  God  make  me  thankful !  and  that  I  may 
make  use  of  it,  not  to  pride  and  vain-glory,  but  that,  now  I  have 
this  esteem,  I  may  do  nothing  that  may  lessen  it !  I  spent  the 
morning  thus  walking  in  the  Hall,  being  complimented  by  every- 
body with  admiration :  and  at  noon  stepped  into  the  Legg  with 
Sir  William  Warren,  who  was  in  the  Hall,  and  there  talked  about 
a  little  of  his  business,  and  thence  into  the  Hall  a  little  more, 
and  so  with  him  by  coach  as  far  as  the  Temple  almost,  and  there 
'light,  to  follow  my  Lord  Brouncker's  coach,  which  I  spied,  and 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  DIARY  37 

so  to  Madam  Williams's,  where  I  overtook  him,  and  agreed  upon 
meeting  this  afternoon.  To  White  Hall,  to  wait  on  the  Duke  of 
York,  where  he  again,  and  all  the  company  magnified  me,  and 
several  in  the  Gallery:  among  others,  my  Lord  Gerard,  who 
never  knew  me  before,  nor  spoke  to  me,  desires  his  being  better 
acquainted  with  me;  and  [said]  that,  at  table  where  he  was,  he 
never  heard  so  much  said  of  any  man  as  of  me,  in  his  whole  life. 


May  i6th,  1668.  Up;  and  to  the  Office,  where  we  sat  all 
the  morning;  and  at  noon,  home  with  my  people  to  dinner; 
and  thence  to  the  Office  all  the  afternoon,  till,  my  eyes  weary,  I 
did  go  forth  by  coach  to  the  King's  playhouse,  and  there  saw  the 
best  part  of  "The  Sea  Voyage,"1  where  Knipp  did  her  part  of 
sorrow  very  well.  I  afterwards  to  her  house;  but  she  did  not 
come  presently  home;  and  there  I  did  kiss  her  maid,  who  is  so 
mighty  belle;  and  I  to  my  tailor's,  and  to  buy  me  a  belt  for 
my  new  suit  against  to-morrow;  and  so  home,  and  there  to  my 
Office,  and  afterwards  late  walking  in  the  garden ;  and  so  home 
to  supper,  and  to  bed,  after  Nell's  cutting  of  my  hair  close,  the 
weather  being  very  hot. 


April  3oth,  1669.  Up,  and  by  coach  to  the  coachmaker's : 
and  there  I  do  find  a  great  many  ladies  sitting  in  the  body  of  a 
coach  that  must  be  ended  by  to-morrow:  they  were  my  Lady 
Marquess  of  Winchester,  Bellassis,  and  other  great  ladies,  eating 
of  bread  and  butter,  and  drinking  ale.  I  to  my  coach,  which 
is  silvered  over,  but  no  varnish  yet  laid  on,  so  I  put  it  in  a  way 
of  doing;  and  myself  about  other  business,  and  particularly 
to  see  Sir  W.  Coventry,  with  whom  I  talked  a  good  while  to  my 
great  content ;  and  so  to  other  places  —  among  others,  to  my 
tailor's:  and  then  to  the  beltmaker's,  where  my  belt  cost  me 
555.  of  the  colour  of  my  new  suit;  and  here,  understanding  that 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  an  oldish  woman  in  a  hat,  hath  some 
water  good  for  the  eyes,  she  did  dress  me,  making  my  eyes  smart 
most  horribly,  and  did  give  me  a  little  glass  of  it,  which  I  will 

1  A  comedy,  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


38  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

use,  and  hope  it  will  do  me  good.  So  to  the  cutler's,  and  there 
did  give  Tom,  who  was  with  me  all  day,  a  sword  cost  me  125. 
and  a  belt  of  my  owne ;  and  sent  my  own  silver-hilt  sword  a-gild- 
ing  against  to-morrow.  This  morning  I  did  visit  Mr.  Olden- 
burgh,  and  did  see  the  instrument  for  perspective  made  by  Dr. 
Wren,  of  which  I  have  one  making  by  Browne ;  and  the  sight  of 
this  do  please  me  mightily.  At  noon  my  wife  came  to  me  at 
my  tailor's,  and  I  sent  her  home,  and  myself  and  Tom  dined  at 
Hercules  Pillars;  and  so  about  our  business  again,  and  partic- 
ularly to  Lilly's,  the  varnisher,  about  my  prints,  whereof  some 
of  them  are  pasted  upon  the  boards,  and  to  my  full  content. 
Thence  to  the  frame-maker's,  one  Norris,  in  Long  Acre,  who 
showed  me  several  forms  of  frames,  which  were  pretty,  in  little 
bits  of  mouldings,  to  choose  patterns  by.  This  done,  I  to  my 
coachmaker's,  and  there  vexed  to  see  nothing  yet  done  to  my 
coach,  at  three  in  the  afternoon ;  but  I  set  it  in  doing,  and  stood 
by  till  eight  at  night,  and  saw  the  painter  varnish  it,  which  is 
pretty  to  see  how  every  doing  it  over  do  make  it  more  and  more 
yellow:  and  it  dries  as  fast  in  the  sun  as  it  can  be  laid  on  almost; 
and  most  coaches  are,  now-a-days,  done  so,  and  it  is  very  pretty 
when  laid  on  well,  and  not  too  pale,  as  some  are,  even  to  show 
the  silver.  Here  I  did  make  the  workmen  drink,  and  saw  my 
coach  cleaned  and  oyled;  and,  staying  among  poor  people  there 
in  the  ally,  did  hear  them  call  their  fat  child  Punch,  which  pleased 
me  mightily,  that  word  being  become  a  word  of  common  use 
for  all  that  is  thick  and  short.1  At  night  home,  and  there  find 
my  wife  hath  been  making  herself  clean  against  to-morrow; 
and,  late  as  it  was,  I  did  send  my  coachman  and  horses  to  fetch 
home  the  coach  to-night,  and  so  we  to  supper,  myself  most  weary 
with  walking  and  standing  so  much,  to  see  all  things  fine  against 
to-morrow,  and  so  to  bed.  Meeting  with  Mr.  Sheres,  to  several 
places,  and,  among  others,  to  buy  a  perriwig,  but  I  bought  none ; 
and  also  to  Dancre's,  where  he  was  about  my  picture  of  Windsor 
which  is  mighty  pretty,  and  so  will  the  prospect  of  Rome  be. 


1  "Puncheon,  the  vessel,  Fr.  poinfon,  perhaps  so  called  from  the  pointed  form 
of  the  staves;  the  vessel  bellying  out  in  the  middle,  and  tapering  towards  each 
end:  and  hence  punch  (i.e.,  the  large  belly)  became  applied,  as  Pepys  records, 
to  anything  thick  or  short."  —  RICHARDSON'S  Dictionary. 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  DIARY  39 

May  i  st.  Up  betimes.  Called  by  my  tailor,  and  there  first 
put  on  a  summer  suit  this  year;  but  it  was  not  my  fine  one  of 
flowered  tabby  vest,  and  coloured  camelott  tunique,  because  it 
was  too  fine  with  the  gold  lace  at  the  bands,  that  I  was  afraid 
to  be  seen  in  it;  but  put  on  the  stuff  suit  I  made  the  last  year, 
which  is  now  repaired;  and  so  did  go  to  the  Office  in  it,  and 
sat  all  the  morning,  the  day  looking  as  if  it  would  be  fowle.  At 
noon  home  to  dinner,  and  there  find  my  wife  extraordinary  fine, 
with  her  flowered  tabby  gown  that  she  made  two  years  ago, 
now  laced  exceeding  pretty;  and,  indeed,  was  fine  all  over; 
and  mighty  earnest  to  go,  though  the  day  was  very  lowering; 
and  she  would  have  me  put  on  my  fine  suit,  which  I  did.  And 
so  anon  we  went  alone  through  the  town  with  our  new  liveries 
of  serge,  and  the  horses'  manes  and  tails  tied  with  red  ribbons, 
and  the  standards  gilt  with  varnish,  and  all  clean,  and  green 
reines,  that  people  did  mightily  look  upon  us;  and,  the  truth  is, 
I  did  not  see  any  coach  more  pretty,  though  more  gay,  than 
our's,  all  the  day.  But  we  set  out,  out  of  humour  —  I  because 
Betty,  whom  I  expected,  was  not  come  to  go  with  us;  and  my 
wife  that  I  would  sit  on  the  same  seat  with  her,  which  she  likes 
not,  being  so  fine :  and  she  then  expected  to  meet  Sheres,  which 
we  did  in  the  Pell  Mell,  and,  against  my  will,  I  was  forced  to  take 
him  into  the  coach,  but  was  sullen  all  day  almost,  and  little  com- 
plaisant: the  day  being  unpleasing,  though  the  Park  full  of 
coaches,  but  dusty,  and  windy,  and  cold,  and  now  and  then  a 
little  dribbling  of  rain;  and,  what  made  it  worse,  there  were  so 
many  hackney-coaches  as  spoiled  the  sight  of  the  gentlemen's; 
and  so  we  had  little  pleasure.  But  here  was  W.  Batelier  and  his 
sister  in  a  borrowed  coach  by  themselves,  and  I  took  them  and 
we  to  the  lodge;  and  at  the  door  did  give  them  a  syllabub,  and 
other  things,  cost  me  125.,  and  pretty  merry.  And  so  back  to 
the  coaches,  and  there  till  the  evening,  and  then  home,  leaving 
Mr.  Sheres  at  St.  James's  Gate,  where  he  took  leave  of  us  for 
altogether,  he  being  this  night  to  set  out  for  Portsmouth  post,  in 
his  way  to  Tangier,  which  troubled  my  wife  mightily,  who  is 
mighty,  though  not,  I  think,  too  fond  of  him. 


40  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

JONATHAN   SWIFT 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  JOURNAL  TO  STELLA 

[From  the  Journal  to  Stella.  Written  1710-1713;  published  in  part  1766, 
1768;  complete  1784.  Edited  by  G.  A.  Aitken,  Methuen  &  Co.,  London, 
1901. 

SWIFT,  JONATHAN  (1667-1745),  dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  Dublin,  and  satirist; 
cousin  of  Dryden  and  son  of  Jonathan  Swift  by  Abigail  (Erick)  of  Leicester; 
born  at  Dublin  after  his  father's  death;  grandson  of  Thomas  Swift,  the 
well-known  royalist  vicar  of  Goodrich,  who  was  descended  from  a  York- 
shire family,  a  member  of  which,  'Cavaliero'  Swifte,  was  created  Baron  Car- 
lingford,  1627;  educated  at  Kilkenny  grammar  school,  where  Congreve  was 
a  schoolfellow,  and  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  1682;  neglected  his  studies, 
showed  an  impatience  of  restraint,  was  publicly  censured  for  offences  against 
discipline,  and  only  obtained  his  degree  by  the  '  special  grace ' ;  attributed 
his  recklessness  himself  to  the  neglect  of  his  family,  for  whom  he  felt  little 
regard;  joined  his  mother  at  Leicester  on  the  troubles  which  followed  the 
expulsion  of  James  II;  admitted  into  the  household  of  Sir  William  Temple, 
who  had  known  his  uncle  Godwin,  c.  1692,  where  he  acted  as  his  secretary; 
introduced  to  William  III  and  sent  by  Temple  to  him,  to  convince  him  of 
the  necessity  for  triennial  parliaments,  1693;  wrote  pindarics,  one  being 
printed  in  the  'Athenian  Mercury,'  1692,  which,  according  to  Dr.  Johnson, 
provoked  Dryden's  remark,  'Cousin  Swift,  you  will  never  be  a  poet';  chafed 
at  his  position  of  dependence,  and  was  indignant  at  Temple's  delay  in  pro- 
curing him  preferment;  left  Temple's  service,  returned  to  Ireland,  was 
ordained,  1694,  and  was  given  the  small  prebend  of  Kilroot;  returned  to 
Temple  at  Moor  Park,  1696;  read  deeply, 'mostly  classics  and  history,  and 
edited  Temple's  correspondence;  wrote  (1697)  'The  Battle  of  the  Books,' 
which  was  published  in  1704,  together  with  'The  Tale  of  a  Tub,' his  famous 
and  powerful  satire  of  theological  shams  and  pedantry;  met  'Stella,'  Esther 
Johnson  [q.  v.j,  who  was  an  inmate  of  Temple's  family  at  the  time;  went 
again  to  Ireland  on  the  death  of  Temple,  1699;  given  a  prebend  in  St. 
Patrick's,  Dublin,  and  Laracor,  with  other  livings;  made  frequent  visits  to 
Dublin  and  London;  D.D.Dublin,  1701;  wrote  his  '  Discourse  on  the  Dis- 
sensions in  Athens  and  Rome'  with  reference  to  the  impeachment  of  the 
whig  lords,  1701;  in  his  visit  to  London,  1705  and  1707,  became  acquainted 
with  Addison,  Steele,  Congreve,  and  Halifax;  entrusted  (1707)  with  a  mis- 
sion to  obtain  the  grant  of  Queen  Anne's  bounty  for  Ireland;  wrote  some 
pamphlets  on  religious  or  church  subjects ;  published  '  Letter  on  the  Sacra- 
mental Test,'  1708,  an  attack  on  the  Irish  presbyterians  which,  though 
anonymous,  injured  him  with  the  whigs;  in  disgust  at  the  whig  alliance 
with  dissent,  ultimately  went  over  to  the  tories  on  his  next  visit  to  England, 
1710;  attacked  the  whig  ministers  in  pamphlets,  in  the  '  Examiner,'  Novem- 
ber 1710  to  June  1711,  and  wrote  the  '  Conduct  of  the  Allies,'  1711;  became 
dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  1713;  had  already  commenced  the  'Journal  to  Stella,' 
had  become  intimate  with  the  tory  ministers,  and  had  used  his  influence  in 
helping  young  and  impoverished  authors,  including  Pope  and  Steele;  re- 
turned to  England,  1713,  to  reconcile  Bolingbroke  and  Harley,  but  in  vain; 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  JOURNAL   TO   STELLA        41 

wrote  more  pamphlets,  notably  'The  Public  Spirit  of  the  Whigs  considered,' 
1714,  in  reply  to  Steele's  '  Crisis/  but  at  length  gave  up  all  for  lost  and  retired 
to  the  country;  left  for  Ireland,  1715,  after  the  fall  of  the  ministry  and  the 
death  of  Queen  Anne ;  his  marriage  to  Stella,  an  incident  which  still  remains 
unproven,  and  also  his  final  rupture  with  'Vanessa'  (Miss  Vanhomrigh, 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  in  London),  supposed  to  have  taken  place 
about  this  time;  his  rupture  with  Vanessa  the  cause  of  her  death,  before 
which  she  entrusted  to  her  executors  his  poem  '  Cadenus  and  Vanessa/  which 
relates  the  story  of  their  love  affair;  though  always  contemptuous  of  the 
Irish,  was  led,  by  his  personal  antipathies  to  the  whigs,  to  acquire  a  sense 
of  their  unfair  dealings  with  Ireland;  successfully  prevented  the  introduc- 
tion of '  Wood's  Half-pence '  into  Ireland  by  his  famous  'Drapier  Letters/  1724; 
came  to  England,  1726,  visited  Pope  and  Gay,  and  dined  with  Walpole, 
for  whose  behoof  he  afterwards  wrote  a  letter  complaining  of  the  treatment 
of  Ireland,  which  had,  however,  no  effect  on  the  minister;  broke  with  Wal- 
pole in  consequence;  was  introduced  to  Queen  Caroline,  but  gained  nothing 
by  it;  published  '  Gulliver's  Travels/  1726;  made  his  last  visit  to  England, 
1727,  when  the  death  of  George  I  created  for  a  moment  hopes  of  dislodg- 
ing Walpole;  wrote  some  of  his  most  famous  tracts  and  some  of  his  most 
characteristic  poems  during  these  last  years  in  Ireland;  kept  up  his  cor- 
respondence with  Bolingbroke,  Pope,  Gay,  and  Arbuthnot,  and  though 
remaining  aloof  from  Dublin  society,  maintained  good  relations  with  Lord 
Carteret,  the  lord-lieutenant;  attracted  to  himself  a  small  circle  of  friends, 
and  was  adored  by  the  people;  set  up  a  monument  to  Schomberg  in  the 
cathedral  at  his  own  expense,  spent  a  third  of  his  income  on  charities,  and 
saved  up  another  third  to  found  a  charitable  institution  at  his  death,  St. 
Patrick's  Hospital  (opened,  1757);  symptoms  of  the  illness  from  which  he 
appears  to  have  suffered  all  his  life  very  marked,  c.  1738;  buried  by  the 
side  of  Stella,  in  St.  Patrick's,  Dublin,  his  own  famous  inscription,  'ubi 
saeva  indignatio  ulterius  cor  lacerare  nequit/  being  inscribed  on  his  tomb. 
Dr.  Johnson,  Macaulay,  and  Thackeray,  among  many  other  writers,  were 
alienated  by  his  ferocity,  which  was,  however,  the  result  of  noble  qualities 
soured  by  hard  experience.  His  indignation  at  oppression  and  unfairness 
was  genuine.  His  political  writings  are  founded  on  common  sense  pure 
and  simple,  and  he  had  no  party  bias.  His  works,  with  the  exception  of 
the  letter  upon  the  correction  of  the  language,  1712,  were  all  anonymous, 
and  for  only  one,  'Gulliver's  Travels/  did  he  receive  any  payment  (2oo/.). 
A  large  number  of  publications  appear  to  have  been  attributed  to  him  by  dif- 
ferent editors  without  sufficient  authority. — Index  and  Epitome  of  D.N.B. 

"Swift  has  left  one  monument,  which  he  would  not  himself  have  recog- 
nized as  of  any  literary  value,  but  which  the  world,  most  assuredly,  will  never 
allow  to  die.  This  is  the  Journal  to  Stella:  a  continuous  series  of  letters  in 
which  he  depicts,  for  her  who,  in  all  his  busy  and  bustling  surroundings, 
ever  occupied  the  place  closest  to  his  heart,  the  scenes  in  which  he  moved. 
Half  the  charm  of  the  Journal  lies  in  its  absolute  ease  and  unconsciousness 
of  effort ;  in  the  humour  alternately  playful  and  sarcastic,  in  the  pathos  and 
the  anger,  in  the  fierce  self-assertion  which  would  not  conceal  itself,  in  the 
fidelity  which  made  his  genius  the  willing  servant  of  smaller  men  who  played 
the  part  of  his  patrons  —  in  a  word,  in  all  those  varying  traits  which  reflect 
Swift's  character  so  exactly,  and  which  let  us  see  him  at  once  in  his  pride, 
and  in  his  tenderness,  in  his  power,  and  in  his  weakness.  We  see  him  as  the 


42  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

confidant  of  ministers,  and  the  dispenser  of  patronage:  as  the  frequenter  of 
the  Court,  and  the  companion  of  the  great,  and,  again,  as  the  boon  companion 
of  the  victors  and  the  vanquished  in  the  world  of  letters;  as  the  friend  of 
Addison,  of  Congreve,  of  Atterbury,  of  Arbuthnot,  of  Pope;  as  the  protector 
of  Parnell  and  others  more  obscure  who  had  fallen  into  misfortune ;  and  as 
the  fierce  combatant,  who  enjoyed  recounting  his  triumphs  to  the  one  listener, 
so  far  removed,  for  whom  all  that  affected  him  was  the  first  interest  of  life." 
—  SIR  HENRY  CRAIK,  Selections  from  Swift,  Vol.  I,  pp.  19-20.  1892. 

"I  know  of  nothing  more  manly,  more  tender,  more  exquisitely  touching, 
than  some  of  these  brief  notes,  written  in  what  Swift  calls  'his  little  language' 
in  his  journal  to  Stella.  He  writes  to  her  night  and  morning  often.  He 
never  sends  away  a  letter  to  her  but  he  begins  a  new  one  on  the  same  day. 
He  can't  bear  to  let  go  her  kind  little  hand,  as  it  were.  He  knows  that  she 
is  thinking  of  him,  and  longing  for  him  far  away  in  Dublin  yonder.  He  takes 
her  letters  from  under  his  pillow  and  talks  to  them,  familiarly,  paternally, 
with  fond  epithets  and  pretty  caresses  —  as  he  would  to  the  sweet  and  artless 
creature  who  loved  him.  'Stay,'  he  writes  one  morning  —  it  is  the  i4th  of 
December,  1710  —  'Stay,  I  will  answer  some  of  your  letter  this  morning  in 
bed.  Let  me  see.  Come  and  appear,  little  letter !  Here  I  am,  says  he, 
and  what  say  you  to  Stella  this  morning  fresh  and  fasting?  And  can  Stella 
read  this  writing  without  hurting  her  dear  eyes  ? '  he  goes  on,  after  more  kind 
prattle  and  fond  whispering.  The  dear  eyes  shine  clearly  upon  him  then  — 
the  good  angel  of  his  life  is  with  him  and  blessing  him." — WILLIAM  MAKE- 
PEACE THACKERAY,  "Swift,"  in  The  English  Humourists  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century.  1853.] 

London,  Oct.  22,  1710.  I  was  this  morning  with  Mr.  Lewis, 
the  under-secretary  to  Lord  Dartmouth,  two  hours,  talking  politics, 
and  contriving  to  keep  Steele  in  his  office  of  stamped  paper:  he 
has  lost  his  place  of  Gazetteer,  three  hundred  pounds  a  year,  for 
writing  a  Tatler,1  some  months  ago,  against  Mr.  Harley,2  who  gave 
it  him  at  first,  and  raised  the  salary  from  sixty  to  three  hundred 
pounds.  This  was  devilish  ungrateful;  and  Lewis  was  telling 
me  the  particulars:  but  I  had  a  hint  given  me,  that  I  might  save 
him  in  the  other  employment:  and  leave  was  given  me  to  clear 
matters  with  Steele.  Well,  I  dined  with  Sir  Matthew  Dudley, 
and  in  the  evening  went  to  sit  with  Mr.  Addison,  and  offer  the 
matter  at  distance  to  him,  as  the  discreeter  person;  but  found 
party 3  had  so  possessed  him,  that  he  talked  as  if  he  suspected  me, 
and  would  not  fall  in  with  anything  I  said.  So  I  stopped  short 
in  my  overture,  and  we  parted  very  drily;  and  I  shall  say  nothing 

1  No.  193. 

2  Robert  Harley:  raised  to  the  peerage  in  May,  1711,  as  Earl  of  Oxford,  and 
made  Lord  High  Treasurer. 

3  Swift  was  a  Tory;  Addison  and  Steele  were  Whigs.    For  the  life  of  Sir  Rich- 
ard Steele  see  post,  p.  425. 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  JOURNAL   TO  STELLA        43 

to  Steele,  and  let  them  do  as  they  will;  but,  if  things  stand  as  they 
are,  he  will  certainly  lose  it,  unless  I  save  him;  and  therefore  I 
will  not  speak  to  him,  that  I  may  not  report  to  his  disadvantage. 
Is  not  this  vexatious?  and  is  there  so  much  in  the  proverb  of 
preferred  service?  When  shall  I  grow  wise?  I  endeavour  to 
act  in  the  most  exact  points  of  honour  and  conscience;  and  my 
nearest  friends  will  not  understand  it  so.  What  must  a  man 
expect  from  his  enemies?  This  would  vex  me,  but  it  shall  not; 
and  so  I  bid  you  good-night,  etc. 

23.  I  know  'tis  neither  wit  nor  diversion  to  tell  you  every  day 
where  I  dine;  neither  do  I  write  it  to  fill  my  letter;  but  I  fancy 
I  shall,  some  time  or  other,  have  the  curiosity  of  seeing  some 
particulars  how  I  passed  my  life  when  I  was  absent  from  MD  l 
this  time;  and  so  I  tell  you  now  that  I  dined  to-day  at  Moles- 
worth's,  the  Florence  Envoy,  then  went  to  the  Coffee-house,  where 
I  behaved  myself  coldly  enough  to  Mr.  Addison,  and  so  came  home 
to  scribble.  We  dine  together  to-morrow  and  next  day  by  invi- 
tation; but  I  shall  alter  my  behaviour  to  him,  till  he  begs  my 
pardon,  or  else  we  shall  grow  bare  acquaintance.  I  am  weary  of 
friends;  and  friendships  are  all  monsters,  but  MD's. 


March  7,  1710-11.  .  .  .  And  so  you  say  that  Stella  is  a  pretty 
girl;  and  so  she  be,  and  methinks  I  see  her  just  now  as  handsome 
as  the  day  is  long.  Do  you  know  what  ?  when  I  am  writing  in  our 
language,  I  make  up  my  mouth  just  as  if  I  was  speaking  it.  I 
caught  myself  at  it  just  now.  And  I  suppose  Dingley  is  so  fair 
and  so  fresh  as  a  lass  in  May,  and  has  her  health,  and  no  spleen.  — 
In  your  account  you  sent  do  you  reckon  as  usual  from  the  ist  of 
November  was  twelvemonth  ?  Poor  Stella,  will  not  Dingley  leave 
her  a  little  daylight  to  write  to  Presto?  Well,  well,  we'll  have 
daylight  shortly,  spite  of  her  teeth;  and  zoo  must  cly  Lele  and 

1  The  'little  language'  which  Swift  used  when  writing  to  Stella  (Esther 
Johnson)  was  the  language  he  employed  when  playing  with  her  as  a  little  child  at 
Moor  Park.  It  is  marked  chiefly  by  such  changes  of  letters  (e.g.,  I  for  n,  or  n  for  /) 
as  a  child  makes  when  learning"  to  speak.  Swift  is  Presto,  and  Pdfr,  sometimes 
Podefar  (perhaps  Poor  dear  foolish  rogue).  Stella  is  Ppt  (Poor  pretty  thing). 
MD  (my  dears)  usually  stands  for  both  Stella  and  Mrs.  Dingley,  but  sometimes 
for  Stella  alone.  Mrs.  Dingley  is  indicated  by  ME  (Madame  Elderly).  The 
letters  FW  may  mean  Farewell,  or  Foolish  Wenches.  Lele  seems  to  be  There, 
there,  and  sometimes  Truly.  —  G.  A.  AITKEN. 


44  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

Hele,  andHele  aden.  Must  loo  mimitate  Pdfr,  pay?  Iss,  and  so 
la  shall.  And  so  lele's  fol  ee  rettle.  Dood-mollow.  —  At  night, 
Mrs.  Barton  sent  this  morning  to  invite  me  to  dinner;  and  there  I 
dined,  just  in  that  genteel  manner  that  MD  used  when  they  would 
treat  some  better  sort  of  body  than  usual. 

8.  O  dear  MD,  my  heart  is  almost  broken.     You  will  hear  the 
thing  before  this  comes  to  you.     I  writ  a  full  account  of  it  this  night 
to  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin ;  and  the  Dean  may  tell  you  the  par- 
ticulars from  the  Archbishop.     I  was  in  a  sorry  way  to  write,  but 
thought  it  might  be  proper  to  send  a  true  account  of  the  fact ;  for 
you  will  hear  a  thousand  lying  circumstances.     It  is  of  Mr.  Har- 
ley's  being  stabbed  this  afternoon,  at  three  o'clock,  at  a  Committee 
of  the  Council.     I  was  playing  Lady  Catharine  Morris's  cards, 
where  I  dined,  when  young  Arundel  came  in  with  the  story.     I 
ran  away  immediately  to  the  Secretary  l  which  was  in  my  way : 
no  one  was  at  home.     I  met  Mrs.  St.  John  in  her  chair;  she  had 
heard  it  imperfectly.     I  took  a  chair  to  Mr.  Harley,  who  was 
asleep,  and  they  hope  in  no  danger;  but  he  had  been  out  of  order, 
and  was  so  when  he  came  abroad  to-day,  and  it  may  put  him  in  a 
fever :   I  am  in  mortal  pain  for  him.     That  desperate  French  vil- 
lain, Marquis  de  Guiscard,  stabbed  Mr.  Harley.     Guiscard  was 
taken  up  by  Mr.  Secretary  St.  John's  warrant  for  high  treason, 
and  brought  before  the  Lords  to  be  examined;   there  he  stabbed 
Mr.  Harley.     I  have  told  all  the  particulars  already  to  the  Arch- 
bishop.    I  have  now,  at  nine,  sent  again,  and  they  tell  me  he  is 
in  a  fair  way.     Pray  pardon  my  distraction;    I  now  think  of  all 
his  kindness  to  me.  —  The  poor  creature  now  lies  stabbed  in  his 
bed  by  a  desperate  French  Popish  villain.     Good-night,  and  God 
preserve  you  both,  and  pity  me ;  I  want  it. 

9.  Morning;    seven,  in  bed.     Patrick  is  just  come  from  Mr. 
Harley's.     He  slept  well  till  four ;  the  surgeon  sat  up  with  him ;  he 
is  asleep  again:  he  felt  a  pain  in  his  wound  when  he  waked: 
they  apprehend  him  in  no  danger.     This  account  the  surgeon 
left  with  the  porter,  to  tell  people  that  send.     Pray  God  preserve 
him.     I  am  rising,  and  going  to  Mr.  Secretary  St.  John.     They 
say  Guiscard  will  die  with  the  wounds  Mr.  St.  John  and  the  rest 

1  The  Secretary  of  State,   Henry  St.    John,   created  Viscount   Bolingbroke 
in  1712. 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  JOURNAL    TO   STELLA        45 

gave  him.  I  shall  tell  you  more  at  night.  —  Night.  Mr.  Harley 
still  continues  on  the  mending  hand ;  but  he  rested  ill  last  night, 
and  felt  pain.  I  was  early  with  the  Secretary  this  morning,  and 
I  dined  with  him,  and  he  told  me  several  particularities  of  this 
accident,  too  long  to  relate  now.  Mr.  Harley  is  still  mending  this 
evening,  but  not  at  all  out  of  danger ;  and  till  then  I  can  have  no 
peace.  Good-night,  etc.,  and  pity  Presto. 

******* 

Mar.  1 6.  I  have  made  but  little  progress  in  this  letter  for  so 
many  days,  thanks  to  Guiscard  and  Mr.  Harley ;  and  it  would  be 
endless  to  tell  you  all  the  particulars  of  that  odious  fact.  I  do  not 
yet  hear  that  Guiscard  is  dead,  but  they  say  'tis  impossible  he 
should  recover.  I  walked  too  much  yesterday  for  a  man  with  a 
broken  shin;  to-day  I  rested,  and  went  no  farther  than  Mrs. 
Vanhomrigh's,1  where  I  dined;  and  Lady  Betty  Butler  coming 
in  about  six,  I  was  forced  in  good  manners  to  sit  with  her  till  nine ; 
then  I  came  home,  and  Mr.  Ford  came  in  to  visit  my  shin,  and  sat 
with  me  till  eleven:  so  I  have  been  very  idle  and  naughty.  It 
vexes  me  to  the  pluck  that  I  should  lose  walking  this  delicious  day. 
Have  you  seen  the  Spectator 2  yet,  a  paper  that  comes  out  every 
day?  'Tis  written  by  Mr.  Steele,  who  seems  to  have  gathered 
new  life,  and  have  a  new  fund  of  wit ;  it  is  the  same  nature  as  his 
Tatlers,  and  they  have  all  of  them  had  something  pretty.  I  believe 
Addison  and  he  club.  I  never  see  them ;  and  I  plainly  told  Mr. 
Harley  and  Mr.  St.  John,  ten  days  ago,  before  my  Lord  Keeper 
and  Lord  Rivers,  that  I  had  been  foolish  enough  to  spend  my 
credit  with  them  in  favour  of  Addison  and  Steele;  but  that  I 
would  engage  and  promise  never  to  say  one  word  in  their  behalf, 
having  been  used  so  ill  for  what  I  had  already  done.  —  So,  now 
I  am  got  into  the  way  of  prating  again,  there  will  be  no  quiet  for 
me. 

When  Presto  begins  to  prate, 
Give  him  a  rap  upon  the  pate. 

O  Lord,  how  I  blot !  it  is  time  to  leave  off,  etc. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

1  Mrs.  Vanhomrigh  was  the  mother  of  Esther  Vanhomrigh,  "Vanessa,"  the 
heroine  of  Swift's  poem  Cadenus  and  Vanessa. 

2  The  first  number  of  the  Spectator  appeared  on  March  i,  1711. 


46  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

Windsor,  July  29,  1711.  I  was  at  Court  and  church  to-day, 
as  I  was  this  day  se'ennight :  I  generally  am  acquainted  with  about 
thirty  in  the  drawing-room,  and  I  am  so  proud  I  make  all  the  lords 
come  up  to  me :  one  passes  half  an  hour  pleasant  enough.  We 
had  a  dunce  to  preach  before  the  Queen  to-day,  which  often  hap- 
pens. Windsor  is  a  delicious  situation,  but  the  town  is  scoundrel. 
I  have  this  morning  got  the  Gazette  for  Ben  Tooke  and  one  Barber 
a  printer;  it  will  be  about  three  hundred  pounds  a  year  between 
them.  The  other  fellow  was  printer  of  the  Examiner,  which  is 
now  laid  down.  I  dined  with  the  Secretary:  we  were  a  dozen  in 
all,  three  Scotch  lords,  and  Lord  Peterborow.  The  Duke  of  Ham- 
ilton would  needs  be  witty,  and  hold  up  my  train  as  I  walked  up- 
stairs. It  is  an  ill  circumstance  that  on  Sundays  much  company 
always  meet  at  the  great  tables.  Lord  Treasurer  told  at  Court 
what  I  said  to  Mr.  Secretary  on  this  occasion.  The  Secretary 
showed  me  his  bill  of  fare,  to  encourage  me  to  dine  with  him. 
"Poh,"  said  I,  "show  me  a  bill  of  company,  for  I  value  not  your 
dinner."  See  how  this  is  all  blotted,  I  can  write  no  more  here, 
but  to  tell  you  I  love  MD  dearly,  and  God  bless  them. 


Windsor,  Sept.  23,1711.  The  Secretary  did  not  come  last  night, 
but  at  three  this  afternoon.  I  have  not  seen  him  yet,  but  I  verily 
think  they  are  contriving  a  peace  as  fast  as  they  can,  without 
which  it  will  be  impossible  to  subsist.  The  Queen  was  at  church 
to-day,  but  was  carried  in  a  chair.  I  and  Mr.  Lewis  dined  pri- 
vately with  Mr.  Lowman,  Clerk  of  the  Kitchen.  I  was  to  see  Lord 
Keeper  this  morning,  and  told  him  the  jest  of  the  maids  of  hon- 
our ;  and  Lord  Treasurer  had  it  last  night.  That  rogue  Arbuth- 
not l  puts  it  all  upon  me.  The  Court  was  very  full  to-day.  I 
expected  Lord  Treasurer  would  have  invited  me  to  supper;  but 
he  only  bowed  to  me ;  and  we  had  no  discourse  in  the  drawing- 
room.  It  is  now  seven  at  night,  and  I  am  at  home ;  and  I  hope 
Lord  Treasurer  will  not  send  for  me  to  supper:  if  he  does  not, 
I  will  reproach  him ;  and  he  will  pretend  to  chide  me  for  not  com- 
ing. —  So  farewell  till  I  go  to  bed,  for  I  am  going  to  be  busy.  — 

1  Dr.  John  Arbuthnot,  Physician  in  Ordinary  to  Queen  Anne.  To  him  Pope 
addressed  his  famous  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot.  See  post,  p.  236. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  JOURNAL   TO  STELLA        47 

It  is  now  past  ten,  and  I  went  down  to  ask  the  servants  about  Mr. 
Secretary :  they  tell  me  the  Queen  is  yet  at  the  Council,  and  that 
she  went  to  supper,  and  came  out  to  the  Council  afterwards.  It 
is  certain  they  are  managing  a  peace.  I  will  go  to  bed,  and  there 
is  an  end.  —  It  is  now  eleven,  and  a  messenger  is  come  from  Lord 
Treasurer  to  sup  with  them ;  but  I  have  excused  myself,  and  am 
glad  I  am  in  bed;  for  else  I  should  sit  up  till  two,  and  drink  till 
I  was  hot.  Now  I'll  go  sleep. 


London,  Dec.  30,  1711.  I  writ  the  Dean  and  you  a  lie  yester- 
day ;  for  the  Duke  of  Somerset  is  not  yet  turned  out.  I  was  to-day 
at  Court,  and  resolved  to  be  very  civil  to  the  Whigs ;  but  saw  few 
there.  When  I  was  in  the  bed-chamber  talking  to  Lord  Rochester, 
he  went  up  to  Lady  Burlington,  who  asked  him  who  I  was;  and 
Lady  Sunderland  and  she  whispered  about  me:  I  desired  Lord 
Rochester  to  tell  Lady  Sunderland  I  doubted  she  was  not  as  much 
in  love  with  me  as  I  was  with  her;  but  he  would  not  deliver  my 
message.  The  Duchess  of  Shrewsbury  came  running  up  to  me, 
and  clapped  her  fan  up  to  hide  us  from  company,  and  we  gave  one 
another  joy  of  this  change ;  but  sighed  when  we  reflected  on  the 
Somerset  family  not  being  out.  The  Secretary  and  I,  and  brother 
Bathurst,  and  Lord  Windsor,  dined  with  the  Duke  of  Ormond. 
Bathurst  and  Windsor  are  to  be  two  of  the  new  lords.1  I  desired 
my  Lord  Radnor's  brother,  at  Court  to-day,  to  let  my  lord  know 
I  would  call  on  him  at  six,  which  I  did,  and  was  arguing  with  him 
three  hours  to  bring  him  over  to  us,  and  I  spoke  so  closely  that  I 
believe  he  will  be  tractable ;  but  he  is  a  scoundrel,  and  though  I 
said  I  only  talked  for  my  love  to  him,  I  told  a  lie ;  for  I  did  not  care 
if  he  were  hanged:  but  everyone  gained  over  is  of  consequence. 
The  Duke  of  Marlborough  was  at  Court  to-day,  and  nobody  hardly 
took  notice  of  him.  Masham's  being  a  lord  begins  to  take  wind : 
nothing  at  Court  can  be  kept  a  secret.  Wednesday  will  be  a  great 
day:  you  shall  know  more. 

******* 

London,  Nov.  15,  1712.  Before  this  comes  to  your  hands,  you 
will  have  heard  of  the  most  terrible  accident  that  hath  almost  ever 

1  Twelve  new  peers  were  created  to  secure  a  Tory  majority  in  the  House  of  Lords. 


48  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

happened.  This  morning,  at  eight,  my  man  brought  me  word  that 
the  Duke  of  Hamilton  had  fought  with  Lord  Mohun,1  and  killed 
him,  and  was  brought  home  wounded.2  I  immediately  sent  him 
to  the  Duke's  house,  in  St.  James's  Square ;  but  the  porter  could 
hardly  answer  for  tears,  and  a  great  rabble  was  about  the  house. 
In  short,  they  fought  at  seven  this  morning.  The  dog  Mohun  was 
killed  on  the  spot;  and  while  the  Duke  was  over  him,  Mohun 
shortening  his  sword,  stabbed  him  in  at  the  shoulder  to  the  heart. 
The  Duke  was  helped  toward  the  cake-house  by  the  Ring  in  Hyde 
Park  (where  they  fought),  and  died  on  the  grass,  before  he  could 
reach  the  house ;  and  was  brought  home  in  his  coach  by  eight, 
while  the  poor  Duchess  was  asleep.  Maccartney,  and  one  Ham- 
ilton, were  the  seconds,  who  fought  likewise,  and  are  both  fled. 
I  am  told  that  a  footman  of  Lord  Mohun's  stabbed  the  Duke  of 
Hamilton ;  and  some  say  Maccartney  did  so  too.  Mohun  gave 
the  affront,  and  yet  sent  the  challenge.  I  am  infinitely  concerned 
for  the  poor  Duke,  who  was  a  frank,  honest,  good-natured  man. 
I  loved  him  very  well,  and  I  think  he  loved  me  better.  He  had 
the  greatest  mind  in  the  world  to  have  me  go  with  him  to  France, 
but  durst  not  tell  it  me;  and  those  he  did,  said  I  could  not  be 
spared,  which  was  true.  They  have  removed  the  poor  Duchess 
to  a  lodging  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  I  have  been  with  her  two 
hours,  and  am  just  come  away.  I  never  saw  so  melancholy  a 
scene ;  for  indeed  all  reasons  for  real  grief  belong  to  her;  nor  is  it 
possible  for  anybody  to  be  a  greater  loser  in  all  regards.  She  has 
moved  my  very  soul.  The  lodging  was  inconvenient,  and  they 
would  have  removed  her  to  another;  but  I  would  not  suffer  it, 
because  it  had  no  room  backward,  and  she  must  have  been  tor- 
tured with  the  noise  of  the  Grub  Street  screamers  mentioning] 
her  husband's  murder  to  her  ears. 

I  believe  you  have  heard  the  story  of  my  escape,  in  opening  the 
bandbox  sent  to  Lord  Treasurer.3  The  prints  have  told  a  thou- 
sand lies  of  it;  but  at  last  we  gave  them  a  true  account  of  it  at 

1  Charles  Mohun,  fifth  Baron  Mohun,  had  been  twice  arraigned  of  murder,  but 
acquitted.     He  had  taken  part  in  many  duels.     See  Thackeray's  Henry  Esmond. 

2  "  This  duel  between  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  and  Lord  Mohun,  who  had  married 
nieces  of  Lord  Macclesfield,  had  its  origin  in  a  protracted  dispute  about  some 
property.     Tory  writers  suggested  that  the  duel  was  a  Whig  conspiracy  to  get 
rid  of  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  (Examiner,  Nov.  20,  1712)."  — AITKEN. 

3  The  story  is  told  in  the  Tory  Postboy  of  November  n  to  13. 


EXTRACTS  FROM   THE  JOURNAL   TO  STELLA        49 

length,  printed  in  the  evening;  only  I  would  not  suffer  them  to 
name  me,  having  been  so  often  named  before,  and  teased  to  death 
with  questions.  I  wonder  how  I  came  to  have  so  much  presence 
of  mind,  which  is  usually  not  my  talent;  but  so  it  pleased  God, 
and  I  saved  myself  and  him;  for  there  was  a  bullet  apiece.  A 
gentleman  told  me  that  if  I  had  been  killed,  the  Whigs  would  have 
called  it  a  judgment,  because  the  barrels  were  of  inkhorns,  with 
which  I  had  done  them  so  much  mischief.  There  was  a  pure  Grub 
Street  of  it,  full  of  lies  and  inconsistencies.  I  do  not  like  these 
things  at  all,  and  I  wish  myself  more  and  more  among  my  willows. 
There  is  a  devilish  spirit  among  people,  and  the  Ministry  must 
exert  themselves,  or  sink.  Nite  dee  sollahs,  I'll  go  seep. 

16.  I  thought  to  have  finished  this  yesterday;  but  was  too  much 
disturbed.  I  sent  a  letter  early  this  morning  to  Lady  Masham,1 
to  beg  her  to  write  some  comforting  words  to  the  poor  Duchess. 
I  dined  to- [day]  with  Lady  Masham  at  Kensington,  where  she  is 
expecting  these  two  months  to  lie  in.  She  has  promised  me  to  get 
the  Queen  to  write  to  the  Duchess  kindly  on  this  occasion;  and 
to-morrow  I  will  beg  Lord  Treasurer  to  visit  and  comfort  her. 
I  have  been  with,  her  two  hours  again,  and  find  her  worse :  her 
violences  not  so  frequent,  but  her  melancholy  more  formal  and 
settled.  She  has  abundance  of  wit  and  spirit ;  about  thirty-three 
years  old;  handsome  and  airy,  and  seldom  spared  anybody  that 
gave  her  the  least  provocation;  by  which  she  had  many  enemies 
and  few  friends.  Lady  Orkney,  her  sister-in-law,  is  come  to  town 
on  this  occasion,  and  has  been  to  see  her,  and  behaved  herself  with 
great  humanity.  They  have  been  always  very  ill  together,  and  the 
poor  Duchess  could  not  have  patience  when  people  told  her  I  went 
often  to  Lady  Orkney's.  But  I  am  resolved  to  make  them  friends ; 
for  the  Duchess  is  now  no  more  the  object  of  envy,  and  must  learn 
humility  from  the  severest  master,  Affliction.  I  design  to  make 
the  Ministry  put  out  a  proclamation  (if  it  can  be  found  proper) 
against  that  villain  Maccartney.  What  shall  we  do  with  these 
murderers?  I  cannot  end  this  letter  to-night,  and  there  is  no 
occasion;  for  I  cannot  send  it  till  Tuesday,  and  the  crowner's 
inquest  on  the  Duke's  body  is  to  be  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  know 

1  Abigail  Hill,  afterwards  Lady  Masham,  had  supplanted  the  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough  as  the  Queen's  favorite.  She  was  a  cousin  of  Harley,  the  Lcrd  Treasurer. 


50  JONATHAN   SWIFT 

more.  But  what  care  oo  for  all  this?  Iss,  poo  MD  im  sorry  for 
poo  Pdfr's  friends;  and  this  is  a  very  surprising  event.  'Tis 
late,  and  I'll  go  to  bed.  This  looks  like  journals.  Nite. 

17.  I  was  to-day  at  noon  with  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton  again, 
after  I  had  been  with  Lady  Orkney,  and  charged  her  to  be  kind  to 
her  sister  in  her  affliction.  The  Duchess  told  me  Lady  Orkney 
had  been  with  her,  and  that  she  did  not  treat  her  as  gently  as  she 
ought.  They  hate  one  another,  but  I  will  try  to  patch  it  up.  I 
have  been  drawing  up  a  paragraph  for  the  Postboy,  to  be  out 
to-morrow,  and  as  malicious  as  possible,  and  very  proper  for  Abel 
Roper,  the  printer  of  it.  I  dined  at  Lord  Treasurer's  at  six  in  the 
evening,  which  is  his  usual  hour  of  returning  from  Windsor: 
he  promises  to  visit  the  Duchess  to-morrow,  and  says  he  has  a 
message  to  her  from  the  Queen.  Thank  God.  I  have  stayed 
till  past  one  with  him.  So  nite  deelest  MD. 


Dec.  27,  1712.  I  dined  to-day  with  General  Hill,  Governor  of 
Dunkirk.  Lady  Masham  and  Mrs.  Hill,  his  two  sisters,  were  of 
the  company,  and  there  have  I  been  sitting  this  evening  till  eleven, 
looking  over  others  at  play ;  for  I  have  left  off  loving  play  myself ; 
and  I  think  Ppt  is  now  a  great  gamester.  I  have  a  great  cold  on 
me,  not  quite  at  its  height.  I  have  them  seldom,  and  therefore 
ought  to  be  patient.  I  met  Mr.  Addison  and  Pastoral  Philips  on 
the  Mall  to-day,  and  took  a  turn  with  them ;  but  they  both  looked 
terrible  dry  and  cold.  A  curse  of  party!  And  do  you  know 
I  have  taken  more  pains  to  recommend  the  Whig  wits  to  the  favour 
and  mercy  of  the  Ministers  than  any  other  people.  Steele  I  have 
kept  in  his  place.  Congreve  I  have  got  to  be  used  kindly,  and 
secured.  Rowe  I  have  recommended,  and  got  a  promise  of  a 
place.  Philips  I  could  certainly  have  provided  for,  if  he  had  not 
run  party  mad,  and  made  me  withdraw  my  recommendation; 
and  I  set  Addison  so  right  at  first  that  he  might  have  been  em- 
ployed, and  have  partly  secured  him  the  place  he  has;  yet  I  am 
worse  used  by  that  faction  than  any  man.  Well,  go  to  cards, 
sollah  Ppt,  and  dress  the  wine  and  olange,  sollah  MD,  and  I'll 
go  seep.  'Tis  rate.  Nite  MD. 


EXTRACTS  FROM    THE  JOURNAL   TO  STELLA        51 

April  13,  1713.  This  morning  my  friend,  Mr.  Lewis,  came  to 
me,  and  showed  me  an  order  for  a  warrant  for  the  three  vacant 
deaneries;  but  none  of  them  to  me.  This  was  what  I  always 
foresaw,  and  received  the  notice  of  it  better,  I  believe,  than  he 
expected.  I  bid  Mr.  Lewis  tell  Lord  Treasurer  that  I  took  noth- 
ing ill  of  him  but  his  not  giving  me  timely  notice,  as  he  promised 
to  do,  if  he  found  the  Queen  would  do  nothing  for  me.  At  noon, 
Lord  Treasurer  hearing  I  was  in  Mr.  Lewis's  office,  came  to  me, 
and  said  many  things  too  long  to  repeat.  I  told  him  I  had  nothing 
to  do  but  go  to  Ireland  immediately;  for  I  could  not,  with  any 
reputation,  stay  longer  here,  unless  I  had  something  honourable 
immediately  given  to  me.  We  dined  together  at  the  Duke  of 
Ormond's.  He  there  told  me  he  had  stopped  the  warrants  for 
the  deans,  that  what  was  done  for  me  might  be  at  the  same  time, 
and  he  hoped  to  compass  it  to-night ;  but  I  believe  him  not.  I  told 
the  Duke  of  Ormond  my  intentions.  He  is  content  Sterne  should 
be  a  bishop,  and  I  have  St.  Patrick's;  but  I  believe  nothing  will 
come  of  it,  for  stay  I  will  not;  and  so  I  believe  for  all  oo  .  .  .  1 

00  may  see  me  in  Dublin  before  April  ends.     I  am  less  out  of 
humour  than  you  would  imagine :   and  if  it  were  not  that  imperti- 
nent people  will  condole  with  me,  as  they  used  to  give  me  joy, 

1  would  value  it  less.     But  I  will  avoid  company,  and  muster  up 
my  baggage,  and  send  them  next  Monday  by  the  carrier  to  Chester, 
and  come  and  see  my  willows,  against  the  expectation  of  all  the 
world.  —  Hat  care  I?    Nite  deelest  logues,  MD. 

14.  I  dined  in  the  City  to-day,  and  ordered  a  lodging  to  be  got 
ready  for  me  against  I  came  to  pack  up  my  things ;  for  I  will  leave 
this  end  of  the  town  as  soon  as  ever  the  warrants  for  the  deaneries 
are  out,  which  are  yet  stopped.     Lord  Treasurer  told  Mr.  Lewis 
that  it  should  be  determined  to-night :  and  so  he  will  for  a  hundred 
nights.     So  he  said  yesterday,  but  I  value  it  not.     My  daily  jour- 
nals shall  be  but  short  till  I  get  into  the  City,  and  then  I  will  send 
away  this,  and  follow  it  myself;  and  design  to  walk  it  all  the  way 
to  Chester,  my  man  and  I,  by  ten  miles  a  day.     It  will  do  my 
health  a  great  deal  of  good.     I  shall  do  it  in  fourteen  days.     Nite 
dee  MD. 

15.  Lord  Bolingbroke  made  me  dine  with  him  to-day;   he  was 

1  The  words  are  illegible. 


52  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

as  good  company  as  ever;  and  told  me  the  Queen  would  deter- 
mine something  for  me  to-night.  The  dispute  is,  Windsor  or  St. 
Patrick's.  I  told  him  I  would  not  stay  for  their  disputes,  and  he 
thought  I  was  in  the  right.  Lord  Masham  told  me  that  Lady 
Masham  is  angry  I  have  not  been  to  see  her  since  this  business, 
and  desires  I  will  come  to-morrow.  Nite  deelest  MD. 

16.  I  was  this  noon  at  Lady  Masham's,  who  was  just  come  from 
Kensington,  where  her  eldest  son  is  sick.     She  said  much  to  me  of 
what  she  had  talked  to  the  Queen  and  Lord  Treasurer.     The 
poor  lady  fell  a  shedding  tears  openly.     She  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  my  having  St.  Patrick's,  etc.     I  was  never  more   moved 
than  to  see  so  much  friendship.     I  would  not  stay  with  her,  but 
went  and  dined  with  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  with  Mr.  Berkeley,  one  of  your 
Fellows,  whom  I  have  recommended  to  the  Doctor,  and  to  Lord 
Berkeley  of  Stratton.     Mr.  Lewis  tells  me  that  the  Duke  of  Or- 
mond  has  been  to-day  with  the  Queen ;  and  she  was  content  that 
Dr.  Sterne  should  be  Bishop  of  Dromore,  and  I  Dean  of  St.  Pat- 
rick's; but  then  out  came  Lord  Treasurer,  and  said  he  would  not 
be  satisfied  but  that  I  must  be  Prebend  [ary]  of  Windsor.     Thus  he 
perplexes  things.   I  expect  neither;  but  I  confess,  as  much  as  I  love 
England,  I  am  so  angry  at  this  treatment  that,  if  I  had  my  choice, 
I  would  rather  have  St.  Patrick's.     Lady  Masham  says  she  will 
speak  to  purpose  to  the  Queen  to-morrow.     Nite,   .   .   .  dee  MD. 

17.  I  went  to  dine  at  Lady  Masham's  to-day,  and  she  was  taken 
ill  of  a  sore  throat,  and  aguish.    She  spoke  to  the  Queen  last  night, 
but  had  not  much  time.     The  Queen  says  she  will  determine  to- 
morrow with  Lord  Treasurer.     The  warrants  for  the  deaneries 
are  still  stopped,  for  fear  I  should  be  gone.     Do  you  think  any- 
think  will  be  done  ?     I  don't  care  whether  it  is  or  no.    In  the  mean- 
time, I  prepare  for  my  journey,  and  see  no  great  people,  nor  will 
see  Lord  Treasurer  any  more,  if  I  go.     Lord  Treasurer  told  Mr. 
Lewis  it  should  be  done  to-night;    so  he  said  five  nights  ago. 
Nite  MD. 

1 8.  This  morning  Mr.  Lewis  sent  me  word  that  Lord  Treasurer 
told  him  the  Queen  would  determine  at  noon.     At  three  Lord 
Treasurer  sent  to  me  to  come  to  his  lodgings  at  St.  James's,  and  told 
me  the  Queen  was  at  last  resolved  that  Dr.  Sterne  should  be  Bishop 
of  Dromore,  and  I  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's ;  and  that  Sterne's  warrant 


EXTRACTS  FROM    THE  JOURNAL   TO  STELLA        53 

should  be  drawn  immediately.  You  know  the  deanery  is  in  the 
Duke  of  Ormond's  gift;  but  this  is  concerted  between  the  Queen, 
Lord  Treasurer,  and  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  to  make  room  for  me. 
I  do  not  know  whether  it  will  yet  be  done;  some  unlucky  accident 
may  yet  come.  Neither  can  I  feel  joy  at  passing  my  days  in  Ire- 
land ;  and  I  confess  I  thought  the  Ministry  would  not  let  me  go ; 
but  perhaps  they  can't  help  it.  Nite  MD. 

COLLEY  GIBBER 

"TALKING   OF   HIMSELF" 

[From  An  Apology  for  the  Life  of  Mr.  C alley  Gibber  written  by  Himself, 
Chap.  II.  1740.  Edited  by  R.  W.  Lowe,  John  C.  Nimmo,  London,  1889. 

GIBBER,  COLLEY  (1671-1757),  actor  and  dramatist;  son  of  Caius  Gabriel 
Gibber  [q.  v.];  educated  at  Grantham  school,  1682-7;  served  in  the 
Earl  of  Devonshire's  levy  for  the  Prince  of  Orange,  1688;  joined  united 
companies  at  Theatre  Royal,  1690;  known  as  'Mr.  Colley';  played  minor 
parts,  1691;  failed  in  tragedy,  but  made  a  good  impression  in  comedy, 
1692-4;  brought  out  his  first  play,  'Love's  Last  Shift,'  1696;  recognised 
as  the  leading  actor  of  eccentric  characters,  1697-1732;  brought  out  some 
thirty  dramatic  pieces,  1697-1748,  including  several  smart  comedies;  ob- 
tained a  profitable  share  in  the  management  of  Drury  Lane,  c.  1711,  and 
held  it  in  spite  of  the  machinations  of  the  tories;  brought  out  'The  Non- 
juror,'  1717,  a  play  directed  against  the  Jacobites;  fiercely  attacked  by  other 
writers  on  his  appointment  as  poet  laureate,  December  1730;  'retired' 
from  the  stage,  1733,  but  reappeared  at  intervals  till  1745;  published  an 
autobiography  entitled  'Apology  for  the  Life  of  Colley  Gibber,  Comedian,' 
1740,  two  letters  to  Pope,  1742-4,  a  poor  'Character  ...  of  Cicero,'  1747, 
and  some  worthless  official  odes;  made  by  Pope  the  hero  of  the  'Dunciad' 
(1742).  The  title  of  the  chap-book,  'Colley  Gibber's  Jests,'  1761,  shows 
his  notoriety.  —  Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N .  B. 

"And  Gibber  himself  is  the  honestest  man  I  know,  who  has  writ  a  book 
of  his  confessions,  not  so  much  to  his  credit  as  St.  Augustine's,  but  full  as 
true  and  as  open.  Never  had  impudence  and  vanity  so  faithful  a  professor. 
I  honour  him  next  to  my  Lord."  —  ALEXANDER  POPE,  Letter  to  Lord  Orrery, 
1742-3;  Pope's  Works,  ed.  Elwin  and  Courthope,  Vol.  VIII,  p.  509. 

"  He  was  not,  indeed,  a  very  wise  or  lofty  character  —  nor  did  he  affect 
great  virtue  or  wisdom  —  but  openly  derided  gravity,  bade  defiance  to  the 
serious  pursuits  of  life,  and  honestly  preferred  his  own  lightness  of  heart  and 
of  head,  to  knowledge  the  most  extensive  or  thought  the  most  profound.  He 
was  vain  even  of  his  vanity.  At  the  very  commencement  of  his  work,  he 
avows  his  determination  not  to  repress  it,  because  it  is  part  of  himself,  and 
therefore  will  only  increase  the  resemblance  of  the  picture.  Rousseau  did 
not  more  clearly  lay  open  to  the  world  the  depths  and  inmost  recesses  of  his 


54  COLLEY   GIBBER 

soul,  than  Gibber  his  little  foibles  and  minikin  weaknesses.  The  philosopher 
dwelt  not  more  intensely  on  the  lone  enthusiasm  of  his  spirit,  on  the  allevia- 
tions of  his  throbbing  soul,  on  the  long  draughts  of  rapture  which  he  eagerly 
drank  in  from  the  loveliness  of  the  universe,  than  the  player  on  his  early 
aspirings  for  scenic  applause,  and  all  the  petty  triumphs  and  mortifications 
of  his  passion  for  the  favour  of  the  town."  —  SIR  THOMAS  NOON  TALFOUKD, 
"Gibber's  Apology  for  His  Life,"  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Writings,  p.  72.] 

It  often  makes  me  smile  to  think  how  contentedly  I  have  set 
myself  down  to  write  my  own  Life ;  nay,  and  with  less  Concern  for 
what  may  be  said  of  it  than  I  should  feel  were  I  to  do  the  same  for  a 
deceased  Acquaintance.  This  you  will  easily  account  for  when 
you  consider  that  nothing  gives  a  Coxcomb  more  delight  than  when 
you  suffer  him  to  talk  of  himself ;  which  sweet  Liberty  I  here  enjoy 
for  a  whole  Volume  together !  A  Privilege  which  neither  cou'd 
be  allow'd  me,  nor  wou'd  become  me  to  take,  in  the  Company 
I  am  generally  admitted  to;  but  here,  when  I  have  all  the  Talk 
to  myself,  and  have  no  body  to  interrupt  or  contradict  me,  sure, 
to  say  whatever  I  have  a  mind  other  People  shou'd  know  of  me  is 
a  Pleasure  which  none  but  Authors  as  vain  as  myself  can  conceive. 
—  But  to  my  History. 

However  little  worth  notice  the  Life  of  a  Schoolboy  may  be 
supposed  to  contain,  yet,  as  the  Passions  of  Men  and  Children  have 
much  the  same  Motives  and  differ  very  little  in  their  Effects,  unless 
where  the  elder  Experience  may  be  able  to  conceal  them :  As  there- 
fore what  arises  from  the  Boy  may  possibly  be  a  Lesson  to  the  Man, 
I  shall  venture  to  relate  a  Fact  or  two  that  happen'd  while  I  was 
still  at  School. 

In  February,  1684-5,  died  King  Charles  II.  who  being  the  only 
King  I  had  ever  seen,  I  remember  (young  as  I  was)  his  Death  made 
a  strong  Impression  upon  me,  as  it  drew  Tears  from  the  Eyes 
of  Multitudes,  who  looked  no  further  into  him  than  I  did:  But 
it  was,  then,  a  sort  of  School-Doctrine  to  regard  our  Monarch  as 
a  Deity;  as  in  the  former  Reign  it  was  to  insist  that  he  was  ac- 
countable to  this  World  as  well  as  to  that  above  him.  But  what, 
perhaps,  gave  King  Charles  II.  this  peculiar  Possession  of  so  many 
Hearts,  was  his  affable  and  easy  manner  in  conversing ;  which  is 
a  Quality  that  goes  farther  with  the  greater  Part  of  Mankind  than 
many  higher  Virtues,  which,  in  a  Prince,  might  more  immediately 
regard  the  publick  Prosperity.  Even  his  indolent  Amusement 


"  TALKING  OF  HIMSELF"  55 

of  playing  with  his  Dogs  and  feeding  his  Ducks  in  St.  James's 
Park,  (which  I  have  seen  him  do)  made  the  common  People  adore 
him,  and  consequently  overlook  in  him  what,  in  a  Prince  of  a 
different  Temper,  they  might  have  been  out  of  humour  at. 

I  cannot  help  remembering  one  more  Particular  in  those  Times, 
tho'  it  be  quite  foreign  to  what  will  follow.  I  was  carry'd  by  my 
Father  to  the  Chapel  in  Whitehall;  where  I  saw  the  King  and  his 
royal  Brother  the  then  Duke  of  York,  with  him  in  the  Closet,  and 
present  during  the  whole  Divine  Service.  Such  Dispensation, 
it  seems,  for  his  Interest,  had  that  unhappy  Prince  from  his  real 
Religion,  to  assist  at  another  to  which  his  Heart  was  so  utterly 
averse.  —  I  now  proceed  to  the  Facts  I  promis'd  to  speak  of. 

King  Charles  his  Death  was  judg'd  by  our  Schoolmaster  a 
proper  Subject  to  lead  the  Form  I  was  in  into  a  higher  kind  of 
Exercise;  he  therefore  enjoin'd  us  severally  to  make  his  Funeral 
Oration:  This  sort  of  Task,  so  entirely  new  to  us  all,  the  Boys 
receiv'd  with  Astonishment  as  a  Work  above  their  Capacity;  and 
tho'  the  Master  persisted  in  his  Command,  they  one  and  all, 
except  myself,  resolved  to  decline  it.  But  I,  Sir,  who  was  ever 
giddily  forward  and  thoughtless  of  Consequences,  set  myself 
roundly  to  work,  and  got  through  it  as  well  as  I  could.  I  remember 
to  this  Hour  that  single  Topick  of  his  Affability  (which  made  me 
mention  it  before)  was  the  chief  Motive  that  warm'd  me  into  the 
Undertaking;  and  to  shew  how  very  foolish  a  Notion  I  had  of 
Character  at  that  time,  I  raised  his  Humanity,  and  Love  of  those 
who  serv'd  him,  to  such  Height,  that  I  imputed  his  Death  to  the 
Shock  he  receiv'd  from  the  Lord  Arlington's  being  at  the  point  of 
Death  about  a  Week  before  him.  This  Oration,  such  as  it  was, 
I  produc'd  the  next  Morning:  All  the  other  Boys  pleaded  their 
Inability,  which  the  Master  taking  rather  as  a  mark  of  their  Mod- 
esty than  their  Idleness,  only  seem'd  to  punish  by  setting  me  at 
the  Head  of  the  Form:  A  Preferment  dearly  bought!  Much 
happier  had  I  been  to  have  sunk  my  Performance  in  the  general 
Modesty  of  declining  it.  A  most  uncomfortable  Life  I  led  among 
them  for  many  a  Day  after !  I  was  so  jeer'd,  laugh'd  at,  and  hated 
as  a  pragmatical  Bastard  (School- boys  Language)  who  had 
betray'd  the  whole  Form,  that  scarce  any  of  'em  wou'd  keep 
me  company;  and  tho'  it  so  far  advanc'd  me  into  the  Master's 


56  COLLEY   GIBBER 


\, 


Favour  that  he  wou'd  often  take  me  from  the  School  to  give  me  an 
Airing  with  him  on  Horseback,  while  they  were  left  to  their  Les- 
sons; you  may  be  sure  such  envy'd  Happiness  did  not  encrease 
their  Good- will  to  me:  Notwithstanding  which  my  Stupidity 
cou'd  take  no  warning  from  their  Treatment.  An  Accident  of  the 
same  nature  happen'd  soon  after,  that  might  have  frighten'd  a 
Boy  of  a  meek  Spirit  from  attempting  any  thing  above  the  lowest 
Capacity.  On  the  23rd  of  April  following,  being  the  Coronation- 
Day  of  the  new  King,  the  School  petition'd  the  Master  for  leave 
to  play;  to  which  he  agreed,  provided  any  of  the  Boys  would 
produce  an  English  Ode  upon  that  Occasion.  —  The  very  Word, 
Ode,  I  know  makes  you  smile  already ;  and  so  it  does  me ;  not  only 
because  it  still  makes  so  many  poor  Devils  turn  Wits  upon  it,  but 
from  a  more  agreeable  Motive ;  from  a  Reflection  of  how  little 
I  then  thought  that,  half  a  Century  afterwards,  I  shou'd  be  calPd 
upon  twice  a  year,  by  my  Post,  to  make  the  same  kind  of  Oblations 
to  an  unexceptionable  Prince,  the  serene  Happiness  of  whose  Reign 
my  halting  Rhimes  are  still  so  unequal  to  —  This,  I  own,  is  Van- 
ity without  Disguise;  but  Haec  olim  meminisse  juvat:  The 
remembrance  of  the  miserable  prospect  we  had  then  before  us,  and 
have  since  escaped  by  a  Revolution,  is  now  a  Pleasure  which, 
without  that  Remembrance,  I  could  not  so  heartily  have  enjoy'd. 
The  Ode  I  was  speaking  of  fell  to  my  Lot,  which  in  about  half  an 
Hour  I  produc'd.  I  cannot  say  it  was  much  above  the  merry 
Style  of  Sing  !  Sing  the  Day,  and  Sing  the  Song,  in  the  Farce: 
Yet  bad  as  it  was,  it  serv'd  to  get  the  School  a  Play-day,  and  to 
make  me  not  a  little  vain  upon  it;  which  last  Effect  so  disgusted 
my  Play-fellows  that  they  left  me  out  of  the  Party  I  had  most  a 
mind  to  be  of  in  that  Day's  Recreation.  But  their  Ingratitude 
serv'd  only  to  increase  my  Vanity;  for  I  consider'd  them  as  so 
many  beaten  Tits  that  had  just  had  the  Mortification  of  seeing  my 
Hack  of  a  Pegasus  come  in  before  them.  This  low  Passion  is  so 
rooted  in  our  Nature  that  sometimes  riper  Heads  cannot  govern 
it.  I  have  met  with  much  the  same  silly  sort  of  Coldness,  even 
from  my  Contemporaries  of  the  Theatre,  from  having  the  super- 
fluous Capacity  of  writing  myself  the  Characters  I  have  acted. 

Here,  perhaps,  I  may  again  seem  to  be  vain;    but  if  all  these 
Facts  are  true  (as  true  they  are)  how  can  I  help  it  ?     Why  am  I 


"TALKING  OF  HIMSELF"  57 

oblig'd  to  conceal  them  ?  The  Merit  of  the  best  of  them  is  not  so 
extraordinary  as  to  have  warn'd  me  to  be  nice  upon  it ;  and  the  Praise 
due  to  them  is  so  small  a  Fish,  it  was  scarce  worth  while  to  throw 
my  Line  into  the  Water  for  it.  If  I  confess  my  Vanity  while  a 
Boy,  can  it  be  Vanity,  when  a  Man,  to  remember  it?  And  if  I 
have  a  tolerable  Feature,  will  not  that  as  much  belong  to  my  Pic- 
ture as  an  Imperfection  ?  In  a  word,  from  what  I  have  mentioned, 
I.  wou'd  observe  only  this :  That  when  we  are  conscious  of  the  least 
comparative  Merit  in  ourselves,  we  shou'd  take  as  much  care  to 
conceal  the  value  we  set  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  a  real  Defect :  To 
be  elated  or  vain  upon  it  is  shewing  your  Money  before  People 
in  want ;  ten  to  one  but  some  who  may  think  you  to  have  too  much 
may  borrow,  or  pick  your  Pocket  before  you  get  home.  He  who 
assumes  Praise  to  himself,  the  World  will  think  overpays  himself. 
Even  the  Suspicion  of  being  vain  ought  as  much  to  be  dreaded  as 
the  Guilt  itself.  Casar  was  of  the  same  Opinion  in  regard  to  his 
Wife's  Chastity.  Praise,  tho'  it  may  be  our  due,  is  not  like  a 
Bank-Bill,  to  be  paid  upon  Demand;  to  be  valuable  it  must  be 
voluntary.  When  we  are  dun'd  for  it,  we  have  a  Right  and  Privi- 
lege to  refuse  it.  If  Compulsion  insists  upon  it,  it  can  only  be  paid 
as  Persecution  in  Points  of  Faith  is,  in  a  counterfeit  Coin:  And 
whoever  believ'd  Occasional  Conformity  to  be  sincere?  Nero, 
the  most  vain  Coxcomb  of  a  Tyrant  that  ever  breath'd,  cou'd 
not  raise  an  unfeigned  Applause  of  his  Harp  by  military  Execution ; 
even  where  Praise  is  deserv'd,  Ill-nature  and  Self-conceit  (Pas- 
sions that  poll  a  majority  of  Mankind)  will  with  less  reluctance 
part  with  their  Mony  than  their  Approbation.  Men  of  the 
greatest  Merit  are  forced  to  stay  'till  they  die  before  the  World 
will  fairly  make  up  their  Account :  Then  indeed  you  have  a  Chance 
for  your  full  Due,  because  it  is  less  grudg'd  when  you  are  incapable 
of  enjoying  it :  Then  perhaps  even  Malice  shall  heap  Praises  upon 
your  Memory:  tho'  not  for  your  sake,  but  that  your  surviving 
Competitors  may  suffer  by  a  Comparison.  'Tis  from  the  same 
Principle  that  Satyr  shall  have  a  thousand  Readers  where  Panegyric 
has  one.  When  I  therefore  find  my  Name  at  length  in  the  Satyr- 
ical  Works  of  our  most  celebrated  living  Author,1 1  never  look  upon 
those  Lines  as  Malice  meant  to  me,  (for  he  knows  I  never  pro- 

1  Pope  satirized  Gibber  in  the  Dunciad.     See  post,  pp.  240-242. 


58  COLLEY   GIBBER 

vok'd  it)  but  Profit  to  himself :  One  of  his  Points  must  be,  to  have 
many  Readers:  He  considers  that  my  Face  and  Name  are  more 
known  than  those  of  many  thousands  of  more  consequence  in  the 
Kingdom :  That  therefore,  right  or  wrong,  a  Lick  at  the  Laureat 
will  always  be  a  sure  Bait,  ad  captandum  vulgus,  to  catch  him  little 
Readers:  And  that  to  gratify  the  Unlearned,  by  now  and  then 
interspersing  those  merry  Sacrifices  of  an  old  Acquaintance  to  their 
Taste,  is  a  piece  of  quite  right  Poetical  Craft. 

But  as  a  little  bad  Poetry  is  the  greatest  Crime  he  lays  to  my 
charge,  I  am  willing  to  subscribe  to  his  opinion  of  it.  That  this 
sort  of  Wit  is  one  of  the  easiest  ways  too  of  pleasing  the  generality 
of  Readers,  is  evident  from  the  comfortable  subsistence  which  our 
weekly  Retailers  of  Politicks  have  been  known  to  pick  up,  merely 
by  making  bold  with  a  Government  that  had  unfortunately  neg- 
lected to  find  their  Genius  a  better  Employment. 

Hence  too  arises  all  that  flat  Poverty  of  Censure  and  Invective 
that  so  often  has  a  run  in  our  Publick  Papers  upon  the  Success  of 
a  new  Author;  when,  God  knows,  there  is  seldom  above  one 
Writer  among  hundreds  in  Being  at  the  same  time  whose  Satyr 
a  man  of  common  Sense  ought  to  be  mov'd  at.  When  a  Master 
in  the  Art  is  angry,  then  indeed  we  ought  to  be  alarm'd !  How 
terrible  a  Weapon  is  Satyr  in  the  Hand  of  a  great  Genius  ?  Yet 
even  there,  how  liable  is  Prejudice  to  misuse  it?  How  far,  when 
general,  it  may  reform  our  Morals,  or  what  Cruelties  it  may  inflict 
by  being  angrily  particular,  is  perhaps  above  my  reach  to  determine. 
I  shall  therefore  only  beg  leave  to  interpose  what  I  feel  for  others 
whom  it  may  personally  have  fallen  upon.  When  I  read  those 
mortifying  Lines  of  our  most  eminent  Author,  in  his  Character  of 
Atticus1  (Atticus,  whose  Genius  in  Verse  and  whose  Morality  in 
Prose  has  been  so  justly  admir'd)  though  I  am  charm'd  with  the 
Poetry,  my  Imagination  is  hurt  at  the  Severity  of  it;  and  tho' 
I  allow  the  Satyrist  to  have  had  personal  Provocation,  yet,  me- 
thinks,  for  that  very  Reason,  he  ought  not  to  have  troubled  the 
Publick  with  it:  For,  as  it  is  observed  in  the  242nd  Taller,  "In 
all  Terms  of  Reproof,  when  the  Sentence  appears  to  arise  from 
Personal  Hatred  or  Passion,  it  is  not  then  made  the  Cause  of 
Mankind,  but  a  Misunderstanding  between  two  Persons."  But 

1  For  an  account  of  Pope's  satire  on  Addison,  see  post,  pp.  211-214,  237. 


"TALKING  OF  HIMSELF"  59 

if  such  kind  of  Satyr  has  its  incontestable  Greatness ;  if  its  exem- 
plary Brightness  may  not  mislead  inferior  Wits  into  a  barbarous 
Imitation  of  its  Severity,  then  I  have  only  admir'd  the  Verses, 
and  expos'd  myself  by  bringing  them  under  so  scrupulous  a  Re- 
flexion: But  the  Pain  which  the  Acrimony  of  those  Verses  gave 
me  is,  in  some  measure,  allay'd  in  finding  that  this  inimitable 
Writer,  as  he  advances  in  Years,  has  since  had  Candour  enough 
to  celebrate  the  same  Person  for  his  Visible  Merit.  Happy 
Genius !  whose  Yerse,  like  the  Eye  of  Beauty,  can  heal  the  deepest 
Wounds  with  the  least  Glance  of  Favour.  .  .  . 

This  so  singular  Concern  which  I  have  shown  for  others  may 
naturally  lead  you  to  ask  me  what  I  feel  for  myself  when  I  am 
unfavourably  treated  by  the  elaborate  Authors  of  our  daily  Papers. 
Shall  I  be  sincere?  and  own  my  frailty?  Its  usual  Effect  is  to 
make  me  vain !  For  I  consider  if  I  were  quite  good  for  nothing 
these  Pidlers  in  Wit  would  not  be  concerned  to  take  me  to  pieces, 
or  (not  to  be  quite  so  vain)  when  they  moderately  charge  me  with 
only  Ignorance  or  Dulness,  I  see  nothing  in  That  which  an  honest 
Man  need  be  asham'd  of:  There  is  many  a  good  Soul  who  from 
those  sweet  Slumbers  of  the  Brain  are  never  awaken'd  by  the  least 
harmful  Thought;  and  I  am  sometimes  tempted  to  think  those 
Retailers  of  Wit  may  be  of  the  same  Class;  that  what  they  write 
proceeds  not  from  Malice,  but  Industry ;  and  that  I  ought  no  more 
to  reproach  them  than  I  would  a  Lawyer  that  pleads  against  me 
for  his  Fee;  that  their  Detraction,  like  Dung  thrown  upon  a 
Meadow,  tho'  it  may  seem  at  first  to  deform  the  Prospect,  in  a 
little  time  it  will  disappear  of  itself  and  leave  an  involuntary  Crop 
of  Praise  behind  it. 

When  they  confine  themselves  to  a  sober  Criticism  upon  what 
I  write;  if  their  Censure  is  just,  what  answer  can  I  make  to  it? 
If  it  is  unjust,  why  should  I  suppose  that  a  sensible  Reader  will 
not  see  it,  as  well  as  myself  ?  Or,  admit  I  were  able  to  expose  them 
by  a  laughing  Reply,  will  not  that  Reply  beget  a  Rejoinder?  And 
though  they  may  be  Gainers  by  having  the  worst  on't  in  a  Paper 
War,  that  is  no  Temptation  for  me  to  come  into  it.  Or  (to  make 
both  sides  less  considerable)  would  not  my  bearing  Ill-language 
from  a  Chimney-sweeper  do  me  less  harm  than  it  would  be  to 
box  with  him,  tho'  I  were  sure  to  beat  him?  Nor  indeed  is  the 


60  COLLEY  GIBBER 

little  Reputation  I  have  as  an  Author  worth  the  trouble  of  a  De- 
fence. Then,  as  no  Criticism  can  possibly  make  me  worse  than 
I  really  am;  so  nothing  I  can  say  of  myself  can  possibly  make 
me  better:  When  therefore  a  determin'd  Critick  comes  arm'd 
with  Wit  and  Outrage  to  take  from  me  that  small  Pittance  I  have, 
I  wou'd  no  more  dispute  with  him  than  I  wou'd  resist  a  Gentle- 
man of  the  Road  to  save  a  little  Pocket-Money.  Men  that  are  in 
want  themselves  seldom  make  a  Conscience  of  taking  it  from  others. 
Wrhoever  thinks  I  have  too  much  is  welcome  to  what  share  of  it  he 
pleases:  Nay,  to  make  him  more  merciful  (as  I  partly  guess  the 
worst  he  can  say  of  what  I  now  write)  I  will  prevent  even  the 
Imputation  of  his  doing  me  Injustice,  and  honestly  say  it  myself, 
viz.  That  of  all  the  Assurances  I  was  ever  guilty  of,  this  of  writing 
my  own  Life  is  the  most  hardy.  I  beg  his  Pardon  !  —  Impudent 
is  what  I  should  have  said !  That  through  every  Page  there  runs 
a  Vein  of  Vanity  and  Impertinence  which  no  French  Ensigns 
memoires  ever  came  up  to;  but,  as  this  is  a  common  Error,  I  pre- 
sume the  Terms  of  Doating  Trifler,  Old  Fool,  or  Conceited  Cox- 
comb will  carry  Contempt  enough  for  an  Impartial  Censor  to  be- 
stow on  me;  that  my  style  is  unequal,  pert,  and  frothy,  patch'd 
and  party-colour' d  like  the  Coat  of  an  Harlequin;  low  and  pom- 
pous, cramm'd  with  Epithets,  strew'd  with  Scraps  of  second-hand 
Latin  from  common  Quotations;  frequently  aiming  at  Wit, 
without  ever  hitting  the  Mark ;  a  mere  Ragoust  toss'd  up  from  the 
offals  of  other  authors :  My  Subject  below  all  Pens  but  my  own, 
which,  whenever  I  keep  to,  is  flatly  daub'd  by  one  eternal  Ego- 
tism: That  I  want  nothing  but  Wit  to  be  as  accomplish'd  a  Cox- 
comb here  as  ever  I  attempted  to  expose  on  the  Theatre:  Nay, 
that  this  very  Confession  is  no  more  a  Sign  of  my  Modesty  than 
it  is  a  Proof  of  my  Judgment,  that,  in  short,  you  may  roundly 
tell  me,  that  —  Cinna  (or  Cibber)  vult  videri  Pauper,  et  est  Pauper. 

When  humble  Cinna  cries,  I'm  poor  and  low, 
You  may  believe  him  —  he  is  really  so. 

Well,  Sir  Critick !  and  what  of  all  this  ?  Now  I  have  laid  myself 
at  your  feet,  what  will  you  do  with  me  ?  Expose  me  ?  Why, 
dear  Sir,  does  not  every  Man  that  writes  expose  himself  ?  Can  you 
make  me  more  ridiculous  than  Nature  has  made  me  ?  You  cou'd 


"TALKING  OF  HIMSELF"  6 1 

not  sure  suppose  that  I  would  lose  the  Pleasure  of  Writing  because 
you  might  possibly  judge  me  a  Blockhead,  or  perhaps  might 
pleasantly  tell  other  People  they  ought  to  think  me  so  too.  Will 
not  they  judge  as  well  from  what  /  say  as  what  You  say  ?  If  then 
you  attack  me  merely  to  divert  yourself,  your  excuse  for  writing  will 
be  no  better  than  mine.  But  perhaps  you  may  want  Bread :  If  that 
be  the  Case,  even  go  to  Dinner,  i'  God's  name  ! 

If  our  best  Authors,  when  teiz'd  by  these  Triflers,  have  not  been 
Masters  of  this  Indifference,  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  were  dis- 
believ'd  in  me ;  but  when  it  is  consider'd  that  I  have  allow 'd  my 
never  having  been  disturb 'd  into  a  Reply  has  proceeded  as  much 
from  Vanity  as  from  Philosophy,  the  Matter  then  may  not  seem 
so  incredible :  And  tho'  I  confess  the  complete  Revenge  of  making 
them  Immortal  Dunces  in  Immortal  Verse  might  be  glorious ;  yet, 
if  you  will  call  it  insensibility  in  me  never  to  have  winc'd  at  them, 
even  that  Insensibility  has  its  happiness,  and  what  could  Glory 
give  me  more  ?  For  my  part,  I  have  always  had  the  comfort  to 
think,  whenever  they  design'd  me  a  Disfavour,  it  generally  flew 
back  into  their  own  Faces,  as  it  happens  to  Children  when  they 
squirt  at  their  Play-fellows  against  the  Wind.  If  a  Scribbler  cannot 
be  easy  because  he  fancies  I  have  too  good  an  Opinion  of  my  own 
Productions,  let  him  write  on  and  mortify;  I  owe  him  not  the 
Charity  to  be  out  of  temper  myself  merely  to  keep  him  quiet  or 
give  him  Joy:  Nor,  in  reality,  can  I  see  why  anything  misrepre- 
sented, tho'  believ'd  of  me  by  Persons  to  whom  I  am  unknown, 
ought  to  give  me  any  more  Concern  than  what  may  be  thought  of 
me  in  Lapland :  'Tis  with  those  with  whom  I  am  to  live  only,  where 
my  character  can  affect  me ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  he  must  find 
out  a  new  way  of  Writing  that  will  make  pass  my  Time  there  less 
agreeably. 

You  see,  Sir,  how  hard  it  is  for  a  man  that  is  talking  of  himself  to 
know  when  to  give  over;  but  if  you  are  tired,  lay  me  aside  till 
you  have  a  fresh  Appetite. 


62  EDWARD   GIBBON 


EDWARD   GIBBON 

[From  The  Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Edward  Gibbon  with  Various  Observa- 
tions and  Excursions  by  Himself,  1795.  Edited  by  G.  B.  Hill,  Methuen  & 
Co.,  London,  1900. 

GIBBON,  EDWARD  (1737-1794),  historian;  educated  at  Westminster; 
owed  his  taste  for  books  to  his  aunt,  Catherine  Porten ;  spent  fourteen  '  un- 
profitable' months  at  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  1752-3;  became  a 
Romanist  after  reading  Middleton's  'Free  Inquiry'  and  works  by  Bossuet 
and  Parsons,  1753;  at  Lausanne  (1753-8),  where  his  tutor,  Pavillard, 
drew  him  back  to  protestantism,  and  where  he  made  friends  with  Deyver- 
dun  and  read  widely;  became  attached  to  Susanne  Curchod  (afterwards 
Madame  Necker),  but  in  deference  to  his  father  broke  off  the  engagement, 
1757;  published  'Essai  sur  1'Etude  de  la  Litterature,'  1761  (English  version, 
1764);  served  in  Hampshire  militia,  1759-70,  and  studied  military  litera- 
ture; at  Lausanne  met  Holroyd  (afterwards  Lord  Sheffield);  during  a  tour 
in  Italy,  1764-5,  formed  plan  of  his  'History'  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Capi- 
tol; with  Deyverdun  published  'Memoires  Litteraires  de  la  Grande-Bre- 
tagne,'  1767-8,  contributing  a  review  of  Lyttelton's  'Henry  II':  issued 
'Critical  Observations  on  the  Sixth  Book  of  the  .^Eneid/  attacking  Warbur- 
ton,  1770;  settled  in  London,  1772;  joined  Dr.  Johnson's  Club,  1774;  be- 
came professor  in  ancient  history  at  the  Royal  Academy  in  succession  to 
Goldsmith;  M.P.,  Liskeard,"  1774-80,  Lymington,  1781-3;  drew  up 
a  state  paper  against  France,  and  was  commissioner  of  trade  and  planta- 
tions, 1779-82;  issued  in  1776  the  first  volume  of  his  'Decline  and  Fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire,'  which  passed  into  three  editions,  and  obtained  the 
favourable  verdict  of  Hume,  Robertson,  Warton,  and  Walpole;  defended 
the  chapters  on  growth  of  Christianity  in  his  'Vindication,'  1779;  issued  the 
second  and  third  volumes,  1781,  after  a  visit  to  Paris,  where  he  met  Buffon 
and  disputed  with  De  Mably;  retired  with  Deyverdun  to  Lausanne,  1783, 
where  he  finished  the  work,  1787  (published,  1788);  returned  to  England, 
1793;  died  suddenly  in  London;  a  Latin  epitaph  written  for  his  monument 
at  Fletching,  Sussex,  by  Dr.  Samuel  Parr  [q.  v.].  His  'Miscellaneous  Works' 
(edited  by  his  friend  Lord  Sheffield,  1796)  contained  an  autobiographical 
memoir,  and  'Antiquities  of  the  House  of  Brunswick'  (1814).  —  Index  and 
Epitome  of  D.  N,  B. 

"If,  as  Johnson  said,  there  had  been  only  three  books  'written  by  man 
that  were  wished  longer  by  their  readers,'  the  eighteenth  century  was  not  to 
draw  to  its  close  without  seeing  a  fourth  added.  With  Don  Quixote,  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress  and  Robinson  Crusoe,  the  Autobiography  of  Edward 
Gibbon  was  henceforth  to  rank  as  'a  work  whose  conclusion  is  perceived  with 
an  eye  of  sorrow,  such  as  the  traveller  casts  upon  departing  day.'  It  is 
indeed  so  short  that  it  can  be  read  by  the  light  of  a  single  pair  of  candles;  it 
is  so  interesting  in  its  subject,  and  so  alluring  in  its  turns  of  thought  and  its 
style,  that  in  a  second  and  third  reading  it  gives  scarcely  less  pleasure  than 
in  the  first.  Among  the  books  in  which  men  have  told  the  story  of  their  own 
lives  it  stands  in  the  front  rank.  It  is  a  striking  fact  that  one  of  the  first  of 
autobiographies  and  the  first  of  biographies  were  written  in  the  same  years. 


AT  OXFORD  63 

Boswell  was  still  working  a,t  his  Life  of  Johnson  when  Gibbon  began  those 
memoirs  from  which  his  autobiography,  in  the  form  in  which  it  was  given  to  the 
world,  was  so  skilfully  pieced  together.  But  a  short  time  had  gone  by  since 
Johnson  had  said  that  'he  did  not  think  that  the  life  of  any  literary  man  in 
England  had  been  well  written.'  That  reproach  against  our  writers  he 
himself  did  much  to  lessen  by  his  Lives  of  Cowley  and  of  Milton,  of  Dryden 
and  of  Pope.  It  was  finally  removed  by  two  members  of  that  famous  club 
which  he  had  helped  to  found.  However  weak  was  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  in  works  of  imagination,  in  one  great  branch  of  literature  it  faded 
nobly  away.  Both  in  the  Life  of  Johnson  and  in  the  Autobiography  of 
Edward  Gibbon  it  '  left  something  so  written  to  after-times  as  they  should  not 
willingly  let  it  die.'  "  —  GEORGE  BIRKBECK  HILL,  The  Memoirs  of  the  Life 
of  Edward  Gibbon,  Preface,  p.  v. 

AT  OXFORD 

A  traveller  who  visits  Oxford  or  Cambridge  is  surprised  and  edi- 
fied by  the  apparent  order  and  tranquillity  that  prevail  in  the 
seats  of  the  English  Muses.  In  the  most  celebrated  universities 
of  Holland,  Germany,  and  Italy,  the  students,  who  swarm  from 
different  countries,  are  loosely  dispersed  in  private  lodgings  at  the 
houses  of  the  burghers:  they  dress  according  to  their  fancy  and 
fortune;  and  in  the  intemperate  quarrels  of  youth  and  wine,  their 
swords,  though  less  frequently  than  of  old,  are  sometimes  stained 
with  each  other's  blood.  The  use  of  arms  is  banished  from  our 
English  universities;  the  uniform  habit  of  the  academics,  the 
square  cap  and  black  gown,  is  adapted  to  the  civil  and  even 
clerical  professions;  and  from  the  doctor  in  divinity  to  the  under- 
graduate, the  degrees  of  learning  and  age  are  externally  distin- 
guished. Instead  of  being  scattered  in  a  town,  the  students  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  are  united  in  colleges;  their  maintenance 
is  provided  at  their  own  expense,  or  that  of  the  founders;  and 
the  stated  hours  of  the  hall  and  chapel  represent  the  discipline  of 
a  regular  and,  as  it  were,  a  religious  community.  The  eyes  of 
the  traveller  are  attracted  by  the  size  or  beauty  of  the  public 
edifices;  and  the  principal  colleges  appear  to  be  so  many  palaces 
which  a  liberal  nation  has  erected  and  endowed  for  the  habitation 
of  science.  My  own  introduction  to  the  University  of  Oxford 
forms  a  new  era  in  my  life,  and  at  the  distance  of  forty  years  I 
still  remember  my  first  emotions  of  surprise  and  satisfaction.  In 
my  fifteenth  year  I  felt  myself  suddenly  raised  from  a  boy  to  a 
man :  the  persons  whom  I  respected  as  my  superiors  in  age  and 


64  EDWARD  GIBBON 

academical  rank  entertained  me  with  every  mark  of  attention  and 
civility;  and  my  vanity  was  flattered  by  the  velvet  cap  and  silk 
gown  which  distinguish  a  gentleman  commoner  from  a  plebeian 
student.  A  decent  allowance,  more  money  than  a  school-boy 
had  ever  seen,  was  at  my  own  disposal ;  and  I  might  command 
among  the  tradesmen  of  Oxford  an  indefinite  and  dangerous 
latitude  of  credit.  A  key  was  delivered  into  my  hands  which  gave 
me  the  free  use  of  a  numerous  and  learned  library,  my  apart- 
ment consisted  of  three  elegant  and  well-furnished  rooms  in  the 
new  building,  a  stately  pile,  of  Magdalen  College,  and  the  adja- 
cent walks,  had  they  been  frequented  by  Plato's  disciples,  might 
have  been  compared  to  the  Attic  shade  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus. 
Such  was  the  fair  prospect  of  my  entrance  (April  3,  1752)  into  the 
University  of  Oxford. 

A  venerable  prelate,  whose  taste  and  erudition  must  reflect 
honour  on  the  society  in  which  they  were  formed,  has  drawn  a 
very  interesting  picture  of  his  academical  life.  "  I  was  educated," 
says  Bishop  Lowth,  "in  the  University  of  Oxford.  I  enjoyed  all 
the  advantages,  both  public  and  private,  which  that  famous  seat 
of  learning  so  largely  affords.  I  spent  many  years  in  that  illus- 
trious society,  in  a  well-regulated  course  of  useful  discipline  and 
studies,  and  in  the  agreeable  and  improving  commerce  of  gentle- 
men and  of  scholars ;  in  a  society  where  emulation  without  envy, 
ambition  without  jealousy,  contention  without  animosity,  incited 
industry  and  awakened  genius ;  where  a  liberal  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge and  a  genuine  freedom  of  thought  was  raised,  encouraged, 
and  pushed  forward  by  example,  by  commendation,  and  by 
authority.  I  breathed  the  same  atmosphere  that  the  Hookers, 
the  Chillingworths,  and  the  Lockes  had  breathed  before;  whose 
benevolence  and  humanity  were  as  extensive  as  their  vast  genius 
and  comprehensive  knowledge;  who  always  treated  their  adver- 
saries with  civility  and  respect ;  who  made  candour,  moderation, 
and  liberal  judgment  as  much  the  rule  and  law  as  the  subject  of 
their  discourse.  And  do  you  reproach  me  with  my  education 
in  this  place,  and  with  my  relation  to  this  most  respectable  body, 
which  I  shall  always  esteem  my  greatest  advantage  and  my  highest 
honour?"  I  transcribe  with  pleasure  this  eloquent  passage, 
without  examining  what  benefits  or  what  rewards  were  derived  by 


AT  OXFORD  65 

Hooker,  or  Chillingworth,  or  Locke,  from  their  academical  institu- 
tion ;  without  inquiring  whether  in  this  angry  controversy  the  spirit 
of  Lowth  himself  is  purified  from  the  intolerant  zeal  which  War- 
burton  had  ascribed  to  the  genius  of  the  place.     It  may  indeed  be 
observed  that  the  atmosphere  of  Oxford  did  not  agree  with  Mr. 
Locke's  constitution ;  and  that  the  philosopher  justly  despised  the 
academical  bigots  who  expelled  his  person  and  condemned  his 
principles.     The  expression  of  gratitude  is  a  virtue  and  a  pleasure : 
a  liberal  mind  will  delight  to  cherish  and  celebrate  the  memory  of  its 
parents;  and  the  teachers  of  science  are  the  parents  of  the  mind. 
I  applaud  the  filial  piety,  which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  imitate ; 
since  I  must  not  confess  an  imaginary  debt  to  assume  the  merit  of  a 
just  or  generous  retribution.     To  the  University  of  Oxford  /  ac- 
knowledge no  obligation ;   and  she  will  as  cheerfully  renounce  me 
for  a  son  as  I  am  willing  to  disclaim  her  for  a  mother.    I  spent  four- 
teen months  at  Magdalen  College ;  they  proved  the  fourteen  months 
the  most  idle  and  unprofitable  of  my  whole  life ;  the  reader  will  pro- 
nounce between  the  school  and  the  scholar;  but  I  cannot  affect  to 
believe  that  Nature  had  disqualified  me  for  all  literary  pursuits. 
The  specious  and  ready  excuse  of  my  tender  age,  imperfect  prepara- 
tion, and  hasty  departure  may  doubtless  be  alleged ;   nor  do  I  wish 
to  defraud  such  excuses  of  their  proper  \veight.     Yet  in  my  sixteenth 
year  I  was  not  devoid  of  capacity  or  application ;  even  my  childish 
reading  had  displayed  an  early  though  blind  propensity  for  books; 
and  the  shallow  flood  might  have  been  taught  to  flow  in  a  deep 
channel  and  a  clear  stream.     In  the  discipline  of  a  well-constituted 
academy,  under  the  guidance  of  skilful  and  vigilant  professors,  I 
should  gradually  have  risen  from  translations  to  originals,  from  the 
Latin  to  the  Greek  classics,  from  dead  languages  to  living  science : 
my  hours  would  have  been  occupied  by  useful  and  agreeable 
studies,  the  wanderings  of  fancy  would  have  been  restrained,  and 
I  should  have  escaped  the  temptations  of  idleness  which  finally 
precipitated  my  departure  from  Oxford. 

Perhaps  in  a  separate  annotation  I  may  coolly  examine  the 
fabulous  and  real  antiquities  of  our  sister  universities,  a  question 
which  has  kindled  such  fierce  and  foolish  disputes  among  their 
fanatic  sons.  In  the  meanwhile  it  will  be  acknowledged  that 
these  venerable  bodies  are  sufficiently  old  to  partake  of  all  the 


66  EDWARD  GIBBON 

prejudices  and  infirmities  of  age.  The  schools  of  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  were  founded  in  a  dark  age  of  false  and  barbarous 
science;  and  they  are  still  tainted  with  the  vices  of  their  origin. 
Their  primitive  discipline  was  adapted  to  the  education  of  priests 
and  monks;  and  the  government  still  remains  in  the  hands  of 
the  clergy,  an  order  of  men  whose  manners  are  remote  from  the 
present  world,  and  whose  eyes  are  dazzled  by  the  light  of  phi- 
losophy. The  legal  incorporation  of  these  societies  by  the  charters 
of  popes  and  kings  had  given  them  a  monopoly  of  the  public 
instruction;  and  the  spirit  of  monopolists  is  narrow,  lazy,  and 
oppressive ;  their  work  is  more  costly  and  less  productive  than 
that  of  independent  artists ;  and  the  new  improvements  so  eagerly 
grasped  by  the  competition  of  freedom  are  admitted  with  slow 
and  sullen  reluctance  in  those  proud  corporations,  above  the  fear 
of  a  rival,  and  below  the  confession  of  an  error.  We  may  scarcely 
hope  that  any  formation  will  be  a  voluntary  act;  and  so  deeply 
are  they  rooted  in  law  and  prejudice,  that  even  the  omnipotence 
of  parliament  would  shrink  from  an  inquiry  into  the  state  and 
abuses  of  the  two  universities. 

The  use  of  academical  degrees,  as  old  as  the  thirteenth  century, 
is  visibly  borrowed  from  the  mechanic  corporations;  in  which  an 
apprentice,  after  serving  his  time,  obtains  a  testimonial  of  his 
skill,  and  a  licence  to  practise  his  trade  and  mystery.  It  is  not 
my  design  to  depreciate  those  honours,  which  could  never  gratify 
or  disappoint  my  ambition ;  and  I  should  applaud  the  institution, 
if  the  decrees  of  bachelor  or  licentiate  were  bestowed  as  the 
reward  of  manly  and  successful  study:  if  the  name  and  rank  of 
doctor  or  master  were  strictly  reserved  for  the  professors  of  science, 
who  have  approved  their  title  to  the  public  esteem. 

In  all  the  universities  of  Europe,  excepting  our  own,  the  lan- 
guages and  sciences  are  distributed  among  a  numerous  list  of 
effective  professors:  the  students,  according  to  their  taste,  their 
calling,  and  their  diligence,  apply  themselves  to  the  proper  masters ; 
and  in  the  annual  repetition  of  public  and  private  lectures  these 
masters  are  assiduously  employed.  Our  curiosity  may  inquire 
what  number  of  professors  has  been  instituted  at  Oxford?  (for 
I  shall  now  confine  myself  to  my  own  university).  By  whom  are 
they  appointed,  and  what  may  be  the  probable  chances  of  merit  or 


AT  OXFORD  67 

incapacity?  How  many  are  stationed  to  the  three  faculties,  and 
how  many  are  left  for  the  liberal  arts  ?  What  is  the  form,  and  what 
the  substance,  of  their  lessons?  But  all  these  questions  are 
silenced  by  one  short  and  singular  answer,  "  That  in  the  University 
of  Oxford,  the  greater  part  of  the  public  professors  have  for  these 
many  years  given  up  altogether  even  the  pretence  of  teaching." 
Incredible  as  the  fact  may  appear,  I  must  rest  my  belief  on  the  posi- 
tive and  impartial  evidence  of  a  master  of  moral  and  political  wis- 
dom, who  had  himself  resided  at  Oxford.  Dr.  Adam  Smith 
assigns  as  the  cause  of  their  indolence,  that,  instead  of  being  paid 
by  voluntary  contributions,  which  would  urge  them  to  increase  the 
number,  and  to  deserve  the  gratitude  of  their  pupils,  the  Oxford 
professors  are  secure  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  fixed  stipend,  without 
the  necessity  of  labour  or  the  apprehension  of  control.  It  has  in- 
deed been  observed,  nor  is  the  observation  absurd,  that  excepting 
in  experimental  sciences,  which  demand  a  costly  apparatus  and  a 
dexterous  hand,  the  many  valuable  treatises  that  have  been  pub- 
lished on  every  subject  of  learning  may  now  supersede  the  ancient 
mode  of  oral  instruction.  Were  this  principle  true  in  its  utmost 
latitude,  I  should  only  infer  that  the  offices  and  salaries  which  are 
become  useless  ought  without  delay  to  be  abolished.  But  there 
still  remains  a  material  difference  between  a  book  and  a  professor; 
the  hour  of  the  lecture  enforces  attendance;  attention  is  fixed  by 
the  presence,  the  voice,  and  the  occasional  questions  of  the  teacher ; 
the  most  idle  will  carry  something  away;  and  the  more  diligent 
will  compare  the  instructions  which  they  have  heard  in  the  school 
with  the  volumes  which  they  peruse  in  their  chamber.  The  ad- 
vice of  a  skilful  professor  will  adapt  a  course  of  reading  to  every 
mind  and  every  situation;  his  authority  will  discover,  admonish, 
and  at  last  chastise  the  negligence  of  his  disciples ;  and  his  vigilant 
inquiries  will  ascertain  the  steps  of  their  literary  progress.  What- 
ever science  he  professes  he  may  illustrate  in  a  series  of  discourses, 
composed  in  the  leisure  of  his  closet,  pronounced  on  public 
occasions,  and  finally  delivered  to  the  press.  I  observe  with 
pleasure  that  in  the  University  of  Oxford  Dr.  Lowth,  with  equal 
eloquence  and  erudition,  has  executed  this  task  in  his  incom- 
parable Preelections  on  the  Poetry  of  the  Hebrews. 

The  College  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen  was  founded  in  the  fifteenth 


68  EDWARD  GIBBON 

century  by  Waynflete,  Bishop  of  Winchester;  and  now  consists  of 
a  president,  forty  fellows,  and  a  number  of  inferior  students.  It  is 
esteemed  one  of  the  largest  and  most  wealthy  of  our  academical 
corporations,  which  may  be  compared  to  the  Benedictine  abbeys 
of  Catholic  countries;  and  I  have  loosely  heard  that  the  estates 
belonging  to  Magdalen  College,  which  are  leased  by  those  in- 
dulgent landlords  at  small  quit-rents  and  occasional  fines,  might 
be  raised,  in  the  hands  of  private  avarice,  to  an  annual  revenue 
of  nearly  £30,000.  Our  colleges  are  supposed  to  be  schools  of 
science  as  well  as  of  education;  nor  is  it  unreasonable  to  expect 
that  a  body  of  literary  men,  devoted  to  a  life  of  celibacy,  exempt 
from  the  care  of  their  own  subsistence,  and  amply  provided  with 
books,  should  devote  their  leisure  to  the  prosecution  of  study, 
and  that  some  effects  of  their  studies  should  be  manifested  to  the 
world.  The  shelves  of  their  library  groan  under  the  weight  of  the 
Benedictine  folios,  of  the  editions  of  the  fathers,  and  the  collec- 
tions of  the  Middle  Ages,  which  have  issued  from  the  single  abbey 
of  St.  Germain  de  Prez  at  Paris.  A  composition  of  genius  must 
be  the  offspring  of  one  mind ;  but  such  works  of  industry  as  may 
be  divided  among  many  hands,  and  must  be  continued  during 
many  years,  are  the  peculiar  province  of  a  laborious  community. 
If  I  inquire  into  the  manufactures  of  the  monks  of  Magdalen,  if  I 
extend  the  inquiry  to  the  other  colleges  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
a  silent  blush,  or  a  scornful  frown,  will  be  the  only  reply.  The 
fellows  or  monks  of  my  time  were  decent  easy  men,  who  supinely 
enjoyed  the  gifts  of  the  founder:  their  days  were  filled  by  a  series 
of  uniform  employments;  the  chapel  and  the  hall,  the  coffee- 
house and  the  common  room,  till  they  retired,  weary  and  well 
satisfied,  to  a  long  slumber.  From  the  toil  of  reading,  or  think- 
ing, or  writing,  they  had  absolved  their  conscience ;  and  the  first 
shoots  of  learning  and  ingenuity  withered  on  the  ground,  without 
yielding  any  fruits  to  the  owners  or  the  public.  As  a  gentleman 
commoner,  I  was  admitted  to  the  society  of  the  fellows,  and  fondly 
expected  that  some  questions  of  literature  would  be  the  amusing 
and  instructive  topics  of  their  discourse.  Their  conversation 
stagnated  in  a  round  of  college  business,  Tory  politics,  personal 
anecdotes,  and  private  scandal:  their  dull  and  deep  potations 
excused  the  brisk  intemperance  of  youth ;  and  their  constitutional 


AT  OXFORD  69 

toasts  were  not  expressive  of  the  most  lively  loyalty  for  the  house 
of  Hanover.  A  general  election  was  now  approaching :  the  great 
Oxfordshire  contest  already  blazed  with  all  the  malevolence  of 
party  zeal.  Magdalen  College  was  devoutly  attached  to  the  old 
interest;  and  the  names  of  Wenman  and  Dash  wood  were  more 
frequently  pronounced  than  those  of  Cicero  and  Chrysostom. 
The  example  of  the  senior  fellows  could  not  inspire  the  under- 
graduates with  a  liberal  spirit  or  studious  emulation ;  and  I  cannot 
describe,  as  I  never  knew,  the  discipline  of  college.  Some  duties 
may  possibly  have  been  imposed  on  the  poor  scholars  whose 
ambition  aspired  to  the  peaceful  honours  of  a  fellowship  (ascribi 
quietis  ordinibus  .  .  .  Deorum) ;  but  no  independent  members 
were  admitted  below  the  rank  of  a  gentleman  commoner,  and  our 
velvet  cap  was  the  cap  of  liberty.  A  tradition  prevailed  that  some 
of  our  predecessors  had  spoken  Latin  declamations  in  the  hall, 
but  of  this  ancient  custom  no  vestige  remained:  the  obvious 
methods  of  public  exercises  and  examinations  were  totally  un- 
known; and  I  have  never  heard  that  either  the  president  or 
the  society  interfered  in  the  private  economy  of  the  tutors  and 
their  pupils. 

The  silence  of  the  Oxford  professors,  which  deprives  the  youth 
of  public  instruction,  is  imperfectly  supplied  by  the  tutors,  as  they 
are  styled,  of  the  several  colleges.  Instead  of  confining  them- 
selves to  a  single  science,  which  had  satisfied  the  ambition  of 
Burman  or  Bernouilli,  they  teach,  or  promise  to  teach,  either  his- 
tory or  mathematics,  or  ancient  literature,  or  moral  philosophy; 
and  as  it  is  possible  that  they  may  be  defective  in  all,  it  is  highly 
probable  that  of  some  they  will  be  ignorant.  They  are  paid, 
indeed,  by  private  contributions;  but  their  appointment  depends 
on  the  head  of  the  house:  their  diligence  is  voluntary,  and  will 
consequently  be  languid,  while  the  pupils  themselves,  or  their 
parents,  are  not  indulged  in  the  liberty  of  choice  or  change.  The 
first  tutor  into  whose  hands  I  was  resigned  appears  to  have  been 
one  of  the  best  of  the  tribe :  Dr.  Waldegrave  was  a  learned  and 
pious  man,  of  a  mild  disposition,  strict  morals,  and  abstemious 
life,  who  seldom  mingled  in  the  politics  or  the  jollity  of  the  college. 
But  his  knowledge  of  the  world  was  confined  to  the  university; 
his  learning  was  of  the  last,  rather  than  of  the  present  age;  his 


70  EDWARD  GIBBON 

temper  was  indolent;  his  faculties,  which  were  not  of  the  first 
rate,  had  been  relaxed  by  the  climate,  and  he  was  satisfied,  like  his 
fellows,  with  the  slight  and  superficial  discharge  of  an  important 
trust.  As  soon  as  my  tutor  had  sounded  the  insufficiency  of  his 
pupil  in  school-learning,  he  proposed  that  we  should  read  every 
morning  from  ten  to  eleven  the  comedies  of  Terence.  The  sum 
of  my  improvement  in  the  University  of  Oxford  is  confined  to  three 
or  four  Latin  plays;  and  even  the  study  of  an  elegant  classic, 
which  might  have  been  illustrated  by  a  comparison  of  ancient 
and  modern  theatres,  was  reduced  to  a  dry  and  literal  interpretation 
of  the  author's  text.  During  the  first  weeks  I  constantly  attended 
these  lessons  in  my  tutor's  room;  but  as  they  appeared  equally 
devoid  of  profit  and  pleasure,  I  was  once  tempted  to  try  the  experi- 
ment of  a  formal  apology.  The  apology  was  accepted  with  a  smile. 
I  repeated  the  offence  with  less  ceremony;  the  excuse  was  ad- 
mitted with  the  same  indulgence:  the  slightest  motive  of  laziness 
or  indisposition,  the  most  trifling  avocation  at  home  or  abroad,  was 
allowed  as  a  worthy  impediment;  nor  did  my  tutor  appear  con- 
scious of  my  absence  or  neglect.  Had  the  hour  of  lecture  been 
constantly  filled,  a  single  hour  was  a  small  portion  of  my  academic 
leisure.  No  plan  of  study  was  recommended  for  my  use;  no 
exercises  were  prescribed  for  his  inspection;  and,  at  the  most 
precious  season  of  youth,  whole  days  and  weeks  were  suffered  to 
elapse  without  labour  or  amusement,  without  advice  or  account.  I 
should  have  listened  to  the  voice  of  reason  and  of  my  tutor;  his 
mild  behaviour  had  gained  my  confidence.  I  preferred  his  society 
to  that  of  the  younger  students ;  and  in  our  evening  walks  to  the 
top  of  Heddington  Hill  we  freely  conversed  on  a  variety  of  subjects. 
Since  the  days  of  Pocock  and  Hyde,  Oriental  learning  has  always 
been  the  pride  of  Oxford,  and  I  once  expressed  an  inclination  to 
study  Arabic.  His  prudence  discouraged  this  childish  fancy; 
but  he  neglected  the  fair  occasion  of  directing  the  ardour  of  a 
curious  mind.  During  my  absence  in  the  summer  vacation,  Dr. 
Waldegrave  accepted  a  college  living  at  Washington  in  Sussex, 
and  on  my  return  I  no  longer  found  him  at  Oxford.  From  that 
time  I  have  lost  sight  of  my  first  tutor;  but  at  the  end  of  thirty 
years  (1781)  he  was  still  alive;  and  the  practice  of  exercise  and 
temperance  had  entitled  him  to  a  healthy  old  age. 


AT  OXFORD  71 

The  long  recess  between  the  Trinity  and  Michaelmas  terms 
empties  the  colleges  of  Oxford  as  well  as  the  courts  of  West- 
minster. I  spent,  at  my  father's  house  at  Buriton  in  Hampshire, 
the  two  months  of  August  and  September.  It  is  whimsical 
enough  that  as  soon  as  I  left  Magdalen  College  my  taste  for  books 
began  to  revive,  but  it  was  the  same  blind  and  boyish  taste  for  the 
pursuit  of  exotic  history. 

MY  EARLY  LOVE 

I  hesitate,  from  the  apprehension  of  ridicule,  when  I  approach 
the  delicate  subject  of  my  early  love.  By  this  word  I  do  not  mean 
the  polite  attention,  the  gallantry,  without  hope  or  design,  which 
has  originated  in  the  spirit  of  chivalry,  and  is  interwoven  with 
the  texture  of  French  manners.  I  understand  by  this  passion  the 
union  of  desire,  friendship,  and  tenderness,  which  is  inflamed  by 
a  single  female,  which  prefers  her  to  the  rest  of  her  sex,  and  which 
seeks  her  possession  as  the  supreme  or  the  sole  happiness  of  our 
being.  I  need  not  blush  at  recollecting  the  object  of  my  choice; 
and  though  my  love  was  disappointed  of  success,  I  am  rather  proud 
that  I  was  once  capable  of  feeling  such  a  pure  and  exalted  senti- 
ment. The  personal  attractions  of  Mademoiselle  Susan  Curchod 
were  embellished  by  the  virtues  and  talents  of  the  mind.  Her 
fortune  was  humble,  but  her  family  was  respectable.  Her  mother, 
a  native  of  France,  had  preferred  her  religion  to  her  country. 
The  profession  of  her  father  did  not  extinguish  the  moderation  and 
philosophy  of  his  temper,  and  he  lived  content  with  a  small  salary 
and  laborious  duty  in  the  obscure  lot  of  minister  of  Grassy,  in  the 
mountains  that  separate  the  Pays  de  Vaud  from  the  county  of 
Burgundy.1  In  the  solitude  of  a  sequestered  village  he  bestowed 

1  Extracts  from  the  Journal. 

March  1757.  — I  wrote  some  critical  observations  upon  Plautus. 

March  8th.  —  I  wrote  a  long  dissertation  on  some  lines  of  Virgil. 

June.  —  I  saw  Mademoiselle  Curchod  —  Omnia  vincit  amor,  et  nos  cedamus 
amori. 

August.  — I  went  to  Grassy,  and  stayed  two  days. 

Sept.  i$th.  — I  went  to  Geneva. 

Oct.  i$th.  —  I  came  back  to  Lausanne,  having  passed  through  Grassy. 

Nov.  ist.  —  I  went  to  visit  M.  de  Watteville  at  Loin,  and  saw  Mademoiselle 
Curchod  in  my  way  through  Rolle. 

Nov.  i-jth.  — I  went  to  Grassy  and  stayed  there  six  days. 

Jan.  1758.  — In  the  three  first  months  of  this  year  I  read  Ovid's  Metamor- 


72  EDWARD   GIBBON 

a  liberal,  and  even  learned,  education  on  his  only  daughter.  She 
surpassed  his  hopes  of  her  proficiency  in  the  sciences  and  languages ; 
and  in  her  short  visits  to  some  relations  at  Lausanne,  the  wit, 
the  beauty,  and  erudition  of  Mademoiselle  Curchod  were  the  theme 
of  universal  applause.  The  report  of  such  a  prodigy  awakened 
my  curiosity;  I  saw  and  loved.  I  found  her  learned  without 
pedantry,  lively  in  conversation,  pure  in  sentiment,  and  elegant 
in  manners ;  and  the  first  sudden  emotion  was  fortified  by  the 
habits  and  knowledge  of  a  more  familiar  acquaintance.  She  per- 
mitted me  to  make  her  two  or  three  visits  at  her  father's  house. 
I  passed  some  happy  days  there,  in  the  mountains  of  Burgundy, 
and  her  parents  honourably  encouraged  the  connection.  In  a  calm 
retirement  the  gay  vanity  of  youth  no  longer  fluttered  in  her  bosom ; 
she  listened  to  the  voice  of  truth  and  passion,  and  I  might  presume 
to  hope  that  I  had  made  some  impression  on  a  virtuous  heart. 
At  Grassy  and  Lausanne  I  indulged  my  dream  of  felicity :  but  on  my 
return  to  England  I  soon  discovered  that  my  father  would  not  hear 
of  this  strange  alliance,  and  that  without  his  consent  I  was  myself 
destitute  and  helpless.  After  a  painful  struggle  I  yielded  to  my 
fate :  I  sighed  as  a  lover,  I  obeyed  as  a  son ;  my  wound  was  in- 
sensibly healed  by  time,  absence,  and  the  habits  of  a  new  life.  My 
cure  was  accelerated  by  a  faithful  report  of  the  tranquillity  and 
cheerfulness  of  the  lady  herself,  and  my  love  subsided  in  friendship 
and  esteem.  The  minister  of  Grassy  soon  afterwards  died; 
his  stipend  died  with  him :  his  daughter  retired  to  Geneva,  where, 
by  teaching  young  ladies,  she  earned  a  hard  subsistence  for  herself 
and  her  mother ;  but  in  her  lowest  distress  she  maintained  a  spot- 
less reputation  and  a  dignified  behaviour.  A  rich  banker  of  Paris,  a 
citizen  of  Geneva,  had  the  good  fortune  and  good  sense  to  discover 
and  possess  this  inestimable  treasure;  and  in  the  capital  of  taste 
and  luxury  she  resisted  the  temptations  of  wealth  as  she  had  sus- 
tained the  hardships  of  indigence.  The  genius  of  her  husband  has 
exalted  him  to  the  most  conspicuous  station  in  Europe.  In  every 

phoses,  finished  the  Conic  Sections  with  M.  de  Traytorrens,  and  went  as  far  as 
the  infinite  series ;  I  likewise  read  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  Chronology,  and  wrote  my 
critical  observations  upon  it. 

Jan.  zyd.  —  I  saw  Alzire  acted  by  the  society  at  Monrepos.  Voltaire  acted 
Alvares;  D'Hermanches,  Zamore;  De  St.  Cierge,  Gusman;  M.  de  Gentil, 
Monteze;  and  Madame  Denys,  Alzire. 


MY  EARLY  LOVE  73 

change  of  prosperity  and  disgrace  he  has  reclined  on  the  bosom 
of  a  faithful  friend ;  and  Mademoiselle  Curchod  is  now  the  wife  of 
M.  Necker,  the  Minister,  and  perhaps  the  legislator,  of  the  French 
monarchy. 

"THE   DECLINE  AND   FALL   OF  THE   ROMAN  EMPIRE" 

It  was  at  Rome,  on  the  i5th  of  October  1764,  as  I  sat  musing 
amidst  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol,  while  the  barefooted  friars  were 
singing  vespers  in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,1  that  the  idea  of  writing 
the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  city  first  started  to  my  mind.  But  my 
original  plan  was  circumscribed  to  the  decay  of  the  city  rather 
than  of  the  empire ;  and  though  my  reading  and  reflections  began 
to  point  towards  that  object,  some  years  elapsed,  and  several 
avocations  intervened,  before  I  was  seriously  engaged  in  the  execu- 
tion of  that  laborious  work.  .  .  . 

In  the  fifteen  years  between  my  "  Essay  on  the  Study  of  Litera- 
ture "  and  the  first  volume  of  the  " Decline  and  Fall  "  (1761-76), 
this  criticism  on  Warburton,  and  some  articles  in  the  Journal, 
were  my  sole  publications.  It  is  more  especially  incumbent  on  me 
to  mark  the  employment,  or  to  confess  the  waste  of  time,  from 
my  travels  to  my  father's  death,  an  interval  in  which  I  was  not 
diverted  by  any  professional  duties  from  the  labours  and  pleasures 
of  a  studious  life.  i.  As  soon  as  I  was  released  from  the  fruit- 
less task  of  the  Swiss  Revolutions  (1768),  I  began  gradually  to 
advance  from  the  wish  to  the  hope,  from  the  hope  to  the  design, 
from  the  design  to  the  execution,  of  my  historical  work  of  whose 
limits  and  extent  I  had  yet  a  very  inadequate  notion.  The  classics, 
as  low  as  Tacitus,  the  younger  Pliny,  and  Juvenal,  were  my  old 
and  familiar  companions.  I  insensibly  plunged  into  the  ocean  of 
the  Augustan  history;  and  in  the  descending  series  I  investigated, 
with  my  pen  almost  always  in  my  hand,  the  original  records,  both 
Greek  and  Latin,  from  Dion  Cassius  to  Ammianus  Marcellinus, 
from  the  reign  of  Trajan  to  the  last  age  of  the  Western  Caesars. 
The  subsidiary  rays  of  medals  and  inscriptions,  of  geography  and 
chronology,  were  thrown  on  their  proper  objects ;  and  I  applied  the 
collections  of  Tillemont,  whose  inimitable  accuracy  almost  assumes 

1  Now  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  in  Aracceli. 


74  EDWARD   GIBBON 

the  character  of  genius,  to  fix  and  arrange  within  my  reach  the 
loose  and  scattered  atoms  of  historical  information.  Through  the 
darkness  of  the  Middle  Ages  I  explored  my  way  in  the  Annals  and 
Antiquities  of  Italy  of  the  learned  Muratori ;  and  diligently  com- 
pared them  with  the  parallel  or  transverse  lines  of  Sigonius  and 
Maffei,  Baronius  and  Pagi,  till  I  almost  grasped  the  ruins  of 
Rome  in  the  fourteenth  century,  without  suspecting  that  this 
final  chapter  must  be  attained  by  the  labour  of  six  quartos  and 
twenty  years.  Among  the  books  which  I  purchased,  the  Theo- 
dosian  Code,  with  the  commentary  of  James  Godefroy,  must  be 
gratefully  remembered.  I  used  it  (and  much  I  used  it)  as  a  work 
of  history  rather  than  of  jurisprudence ;  but  in  every  light  it  may 
be  considered  as  a  full  and  capacious  repository  of  the  political 
state  of  the  Empire  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries.  As  I  be- 
lieved, and  as  I  still  believe,  that  the  propagation  of  the  Gospel 
and  the  triumph  of  the  Church  are  inseparably  connected  with 
the  decline  of  the  Roman  monarchy,  I  weighed  the  causes  and 
effects  of  the  revolution,  and  contrasted  the  narratives  and  apolo- 
gies of  the  Christians  themselves  with  the  glances  of  candour 
or  enmity  which  the  Pagans  have  cast  on  the  rising  sects.  The 
Jewish  and  Heathen  testimonies,  as  they  are  collected  and  illus- 
trated by  Dr.  Lardner,  directed,  without  superseding,  my  search 
of  the  originals;  and  in  an  ample  dissertation  on  the  miraculous 
darkness  of  the  Passion,  I  privately  drew  my  conclusions  from 
the  silence  of  an  unbelieving  age.  I  have  assembled  the  prepara- 
tory studies  directly  or  indirectly  relative  to  my  History;,  but  in 
strict  equity  they  must  be  spread  beyond  this  period  of  my  life, 
over  the  two  summers  (1771  and  1772)  that  elapsed  between  my 
father's  death  and  my  settlement  in  London.  2.  In  a  free 
conversation  with  books  and  men,  it  would  be  endless  to  enumerate 
the  names  and  characters  of  all  who  are  introduced  to  our  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  in  this  general  acquaintance  we  may  select  the 
degrees  of  friendship  and  esteem.  According  to  the  wise  maxim, 
Multum  legere  potius  quam  multa,  I  reviewed  again  and  again 
the  immortal  works  of  the  French  and  English,  the  Latin  and 
Italian  classics.  My  Greek  studies  (though  less  assiduous  than 
I  designed)  maintained  and  extended  my  knowledge  of  that  in- 
comparable idiom.  Homer  and  Xenophon  were  still  my  favourite 


"THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE"    75 

authors,  and  I  had  almost  prepared  for  the  press  an  essay  on  the 
Cyropcedia,  which  in  my  own  judgment  is  not  unhappily  laboured. 
After  a  certain  age,  the  new  publications  of  merit  are  the  sole 
food  of  the  many;  and  the  most  austere  student  will  be  often 
tempted  to  break  the  line  for  the  sake  of  indulging  his  own  curiosity 
and  of  providing  the  topics  of  fashionable  currency.  A  more 
respectable  motive  may  be  assigned  for  the  third  perusal  of  Black- 
stone's  Commentaries,  and  a  copious  and  critical  abstract  of  that 
English  work  was  my  first  serious  production  in  my  native  language. 
3.  My  literary  leisure  was  much  less  complete  and  independent 
than  it  might  appear  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger.  In  the  hurry  of 
London  I  was  destitute  of  books ;  in  the  solitude  of  Hampshire  I 
was  not  master  of  my  time.  My  quiet  was  gradually  disturbed  by 
our  domestic  anxiety,  and  I  should  be  ashamed  of  my  unfeeling 
philosophy  had  I  found  much  time  or  taste  for  study  in  the  last 
fatal  summer  (1770)  of  my  father's  decay  and  dissolution.  .  .  . 

No  sooner  was  I  settled  in  my  house  and  library,  than  I  under- 
took the  composition  of  the  first  volume  of  my  History.  At  the 
outset  all  was  dark  and  doubtful ;  even  the  title  of  the  work,  the 
true  era  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Empire,  the  limits  of 
the  introduction,  the  division  of  the  chapters,  and  the  order  of 
the  narrative;  and  I  was  often  tempted  to  cast  away  the  labour 
of  seven  years.  The  style  of  an  author  should  be  the  image  of 
his  mind,  but  the  choice  and  command  of  language  is  the  fruit  of 
exercise.  Many  experiments  were  made  before  I  could  hit  the 
middle  tone  between  a  dull  chronicle  and  a  rhetorical  declama- 
tion: three  times  did  I  compose  the  first  chapter,  and  twice  the 
second  and  third,  before  I  was  tolerably  satisfied  with  their  effect. 
In  the  remainder  of  the  way  I  advanced  with  a  more  equal  and 
easy  pace;  but  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  chapters  have  been 
reduced,  by  three  successive  revisals,  from  a  large  volume  to  their 
present  size ;  and  they  might  still  be  compressed  without  any  loss 
of  facts  or  sentiments.  An  opposite  fault  may  be  imputed  to  the 
concise  and  superficial  narrative  of  the  first  reigns  from  Corn- 
modus  to  Alexander ;  a  fault  of  which  I  have  never  heard,  except 
from  Mr.  Hume  in  his  last  journey  to  London.  Such  an  oracle 
might  have  been  consulted  and  obeyed  with  rational  devotion; 
but  I  was  soon  disgusted  with  the  modest  practice  of  reading  the 


76  EDWARD   GIBBON 

manuscript  to  my  friends.  Of  such  friends  some  will  praise  from 
politeness,  and  some  will  criticise  from  vanity.  •  The  author  him- 
self is  the  best  judge  of  his  own  performance ;  no  one  has  so  deeply 
meditated  on  the  subject ;  no  one  is  so  sincerely  interested  in  the 
event.  .  .  . 

The  volume  of  my  History,  which  had  been  somewhat  delayed 
by  the  novelty  and  tumult  of  a  first  session,1  was  now  ready  for 
the  press.  After  the  perilous  adventure  had  been  declined  by 
my  friend  Mr.  Elmsley,  I  agreed,  upon  easy  tetms,  with  Mr. 
Thomas  Cadell,  a  respectable  bookseller,  and  Mr.  William 
Strahan,  an  eminent  printer;  and  they  undertook  the  care  and 
risk  of  the  publication,  which  derived  more  credit  from  the  name 
of  the  shop  than  from  that  of  the  author.  The  last  revisal  of 
the  proofs  was  submitted  to  my  vigilance;  and  many  blemishes 
of  style,  which  had  been  invisible  in  the  manuscript,  were  dis- 
covered and  corrected  in  the  printed  sheet.  So  moderate  were 
our  hopes,  that  the  original  impression  had  been  stinted  to  five 
hundred,  till  the  number  was  doubled  by  the  prophetic  taste 
of  Mr.  Strahan.  During  this  awful  interval  I  was  neither  elated 
by  the  ambition  of  fame  nor  depressed  by  the  apprehension  of 
contempt.  My  diligence  and  accuracy  were  attested  by  my  own 
conscience.  History  is  the  most  popular  species  of  writing,  since 
it  can  adapt  itself  to  the  highest  or  the  lowest  capacity.  I  had 
chosen  an  illustrious  subject.  Rome  is  familiar  to  the  school-boy 
and  the  statesman ;  and  my  narrative  was  deduced  from  the  last 
period  of  classical  reading.  I  had  likewise  flattered  myself  that 
an  age  of  light  and  liberty  would  receive  without  scandal  an 
inquiry  into  the  human  causes  of  the  progress  and  establishment 
of  Christianity. 

I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  describe  the  success  of  the  work  without 
betraying  the  vanity  of  the  writer.  The  first  impression  was 
exhausted  in  a  few  days ;  a  second  and  third  edition  were  scarcely 
adequate  to  the  demand ;  and  the  bookseller's  property  was  twice 
invaded  by  the  pirates  of  Dublin.  My  book  was  on  every  table, 
and  almost  on  every  toilette;  the  historian  was  crowned  by  the 

1  "  The  eight  sessions  that  I  sat  in  parliament  were  a  school  of  civil  prudence, 
the  first  and  most  essential  virtue  of  an  historian."  —  GIBBON,  Memoirs,  ed.  G.  B. 
Hill,  p.  193. 


"THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE"   77 

taste  or  fashion  of  the  day;  nor  was  the  general  voice  disturbed 
by  the  barking  of  any  profane  critic.  The  favour  of  mankind 
is  most  freely  bestowed  on  a  new  acquaintance  of  any  original 
merit;  and  the  mutual  surprise  of  the  public  and  their  favourite 
is  productive  of  those  warm  sensibilities  which  at  a  second  meeting, 
can  no  longer  be  rekindled.  If  I  listened  to  the  music  of  praise, 
I  was  more  seriously  satisfied  with  the  approbation  of  my  judges. 
The  candour  of  Dr.  Robertson  embraced  his  disciple.  A  letter 
from  Mr.  Hume  overpaid  the  labour  of  ten  years;  but  I  have 
never  presumed  to  accept  a  place  in  the  triumvirate  of  British 
Historians.  .  .  . 

Nearly  two  years  had  elapsed  between  the  publication  of  my 
first  and  the  commencement  of  my  second  volume,  and  the  causes 
must  be  assigned  to  this  long  delay,  i.  After  a  short  holiday,  I 
indulged  my  curiosity  in  some  studies  of  a  very  different  nature, 
a  course  of  anatomy,  which  was  demonstrated  by  Dr.  Hunter; 
and  some  lessons  of  chemistry,  which  were  delivered  by  Mr. 
Higgins.  The  principles  of  these  sciences,  and  a  taste  for  books 
of  natural  history,  contributed  to  multiply  my  ideas  and  images; 
and  the  anatomist  and  chemist  may  sometimes  track  me  in  their 
own  snow.  2.  I  dived,  perhaps  too  deeply,  into  the  mud  of 
the  Arian  controversy,  and  many  days  of  reading,  thinking,  and 
writing  were  consumed  in  the  pursuit  of  a  phantom.  3.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  arrange,  with  order  and  perspicuity,  the  various  trans- 
actions of  the  age  of  Constantine ;  and  so  much  was  I  displeased 
with  the  first  essay,  that  I  committed  to  the  flames  above  fifty 
sheets.  4.  The  six  months  of  Paris  and  pleasure  must  be  de- 
ducted from  the  account.  But  when  I  resumed  my  task,  I  felt 
my  improvement ;  I  was  now  master  of  my  style  and  subject,  and 
while  the  measure  of  my  daily  performance  was  enlarged,  I  dis- 
covered less  reason  to  cancel  or  correct.  It  has  always  been  my 
practice  to  cast  a  long  paragraph  in  a  single  mould,  to  try  it  by 
my  ear,  to  deposit  it  in  my  memory,  but  to  suspend  the  action 
of  the  pen  till  I  had  given  the  last  polish  to  my  work.  Shall 
I  add,  that  I  never  found  my  mind  more  vigorous  nor  my  com- 
position more  happy  than  in  the  winter  hurry  of  society  and 
parliament?  .  .  . 

So  flexible  is  the  title  of  my  History,  that  the  final  era  might 


78  EDWARD  GIBBON 

be  fixed  at  my  own  choice ;  and  I  long  hesitated  whether  I  should 
be  content  with  the  three  volumes,  the  Fall  of  the  Western  Empire, 
which  fulfilled  my  first  engagement  with  the  public.  In  this 
interval  of  suspense,  nearly  a  twelvemonth,  I  returned  by  a 
natural  impulse  to  the  Greek  authors  of  antiquity;  I  read  with 
new  pleasure  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  the  Histories  of  He- 
rodotus, Thucydides,  and  Xenophon,  a  large  portion  of  the  tragic 
and  comic  theatre  of  Athens,  and  many  interesting  dialogues  of 
the  Socratic  school.  Yet  in  the  luxury  of  freedom  I  began  to 
wish  for  the  daily  task,  the  active  pursuit,  which  gave  a  value  to 
every  book  and  an  object  to  every  inquiry ;  the  preface  of  a  new 
edition  announced  my  design,  and  I  dropped  without  reluctance 
from  the  age  of  Plato  to  that  of  Justinian.  The  original  texts  of 
Procopius  and  Agathias  supplied  the  events  and  even  the  characters 
of  his  reign;  but  a  laborious  winter  was  devoted  to  the  Codes, 
the  Pandects,  and  the  modern  interpreters,  before  I  presumed 
to  form  an  abstract  of  the  civil  law.  My  skill  was  improved  by 
practice,  my  diligence  perhaps  was  quickened  by  the  loss  of  office; 
and  excepting  the  last  chapter,  I  had  finished  the  fourth  volume 
before  I  sought  a  retreat  on  the  banks  of  the  Leman  Lake.  .  .  . 

My  transmigration  from  London  to  Lausanne  could  not  be 
effected  without  interrupting  the  course  of  my  historical  labours. 
The  hurry  of  my  departure,  the  joy  of  my  arrival,  the  delay  of 
my  tools,  suspended  their  progress;  and  a  full  twelvemonth  was 
lost  before  I  could  resume  the  thread  of  regular  and  daily  in- 
dustry. A  number  of  books  most  requisite  and  least  common 
had  been  previously  selected ;  the  academical  library  of  Lausanne, 
which  I  could  use  as  my  own,  contained  at  least  the  Fathers  and 
Councils:  and  I  have  derived  some  occasional  succour  from  the 
public  collections  of  Berne  and  Geneva.  The  fourth  volume 
was  soon  terminated  by  an  abstract  of  the  controversies  of  the  In- 
carnation, which  the  learned  Dr.  Prideaux  was  apprehensive  of 
exposing  to  profane  eyes.  It  had  been  the  original  design  of  the 
learned  Dean  Prideaux  to  write  the  history  of  the  ruin  of  the 
Eastern  Church.  In  this  work  it  would  have  been  necessary,  not 
only  to  unravel  all  those  controversies  which  the  Christians  made 
about  the  hypostatical  union,  but  also  to  unfold  all  the  niceties 
and  subtle  notions  which  each  sect  entertained  concerning  it.  The 


"THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE"   79 

pious  historian  was  apprehensive  of  exposing  that  incomprehensible 
mystery  to  the  cavils  and  objections  of  unbelievers;  and  he  durst 
not,  "seeing  the  nature  of  this  book,  venture  it  abroad  in  so  wanton 
and  lewd  an  age. "  1 

In  the  fifth  and  sixth  volumes  the  revolutions  of  the  empire 
and  the  world  are  most  rapid,  various,  and  instructive;  and  the 
Greek  or  Roman  historians  are  checked  by  the  hostile  narratives 
of  the  barbarians  of  the  East  and  the  West.2 

It  was  not  till  after  many  designs  and  many  trials  that  I  pre- 
ferred, as  I  still  prefer,  the  method  of  grouping  my  picture  by 
nations ;  and  the  seeming  neglect  of  chronological  order  is  surely 
compensated  by  the  superior  merits  of  interest  and  perspicuity. 
The  style  of  the  first  volume  is,  in  my  opinion,  somewhat  crude 
and  elaborate;  in  the  second  and  third  it  is  ripened  into  ease, 
correctness,  and  numbers;  but  in  the  three  last  I  may  have  been 
seduced  by  the  facility  of  my  pen,  and  the  constant  habit  of  speak- 
ing one  language  and  writing  another  may  have  infused  some 
mixture  of  Gallic  idioms.  Happily  for  my  eyes,  I  have  always 
closed  my  studies  with  the  day,  and  commonly  with  the  morning ; 
and  a  long  but  temperate  labour  has  been  accomplished  without 
fatiguing  either  the  mind  or  body;  but  when  I  computed  the 
remainder  of  my  time  and  my  task,  it  was  apparent  that, 
according  to  the  season  of  publication,  the  delay  of  a  month  would 
be  productive  of  that  of  a  year.  I  was  now  straining  for  the  goal, 
and  in  the  last  winter  many  evenings  were  borrowed  from  the 
social  pleasures  of  Lausanne.  I  could  now  wish  that  a  pause,  an 
interval,  had  been  allowed  for  a  serious  revisal. 

I  have  presumed  to  mark  the  moment  of  conception:  I  shall 
now  commemorate  the  hour  of  my  final  deliverance.  It  was  on 
the  day,  or  rather  night,  of  the  2yth  of  June  1787,  between  the 
hours  of  eleven  and  twelve,  that  I  wrote  the  last  lines  of  the  last 
page  in  a  summer-house  in  my  garden.  After  laying  down  my 
pen,  I  took  several  turns  in  a  berceau,  or  covered  walk  of  acacias, 
which  commands  a  prospect  of  the  country,  the  lake,  and  the 

1  See  preface  to  the  Life  of  Mahomet,  p.  xxi.  —  GIBBON. 

2  I  have  followed  the  judicious  precept  of  the  Abbe  de  Mably  (Maniere  d'ecrire 
PHistoire,  p.  no),  who  advises  the  historian  not  to  dwell  too  minutely  on  the  decay 
of  the  eastern  empire;  but  to  consider  the  barbarian  conquerors  as  a  more  worthy 
subject  of  his  narrative.     "Fas  est  et  ab  hoste  doceri." 


80  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

mountains.  The  air  was  temperate,  the  sky  was  serene,  the 
silver  orb  of  the  moon  was  reflected  from  the  waters,  and  all 
nature  was  silent.  I  will  not  dissemble  the  first  emotions  of  joy 
on  the  recovery  of  my  freedom,  and  perhaps  the  establishment 
of  my  fame.  But  my  pride  was  soon  humbled,  and  a  sober  melan- 
choly was  spread  over  my  mind,  by  the  idea  that  I  had  taken  an 
everlasting  leave  of  an  old  and  agreeable  companion,  and  that 
whatsoever  might  be  the  future  date  of  my  History,  the  life  of  the 
historian  must  be  short  and  precarious. 


THOMAS   CARLYLE 

LIFE  IN   LONDON 

[From  "Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,"  written  in  1866,  Reminiscences,  Vol.  I, 
pp.  171-175,  185-203.  Edited  by  C.  E.  Norton,  Macmillan  &  Co.,  London, 

1887. 

CARLYLE,  THOMAS  (1795-1881),  essayist  and  historian;  son  of  a  mason 
at  Ecclefechan,  Dumfriesshire;  educated  at  the  parish  school,  and  (1805) 
at  Annan  academy;  entered  Edinburgh  University,  1809;  studied  mathe- 
matics; intended  for  the  church;  mathematical  teacher  at  Annan,  1814; 
schoolmaster  at  Kirkcaldy,  1816,  where  he  became  intimate  with  Edward 
Irving;  read  law  in  Edinburgh,  1819,  where  he  developed  extreme 
sensitiveness  to  physical  discomforts;  took  pupils;  read  German;  met  his 
future  wife  [see  JANE  BAILLIE  WELSH  CARLYLE],  1821;  tutor  to  Charles 
Buller  at  Edinburgh  and  Dunkeld,  1822-4;  contributed  a  'Life  of 
Schiller'  to  the  'London  Magazine,'  1824;  translated  Legendre's  'Geome- 
try' and  Goethe's  'Wilhelm  Meister,'  1824;  visited  Paris,  1824;  lodged  in 
Islington,  1825;  retired  to  Dumfriesshire,  1825;  married  and  settled  in 
Edinburgh,  1826;  contributed  to  the  'Edinburgh  Review,'  1827-9;  un~ 
successful  candidate  for  the  moral  philosophy  chair  at  St.  Andrews;  re- 
moved to  Craigenputtock,  Dumfriesshire,  1828,  where  he  wrote  on  German 
literature  for  the  magazines;  in  great  monetary  difficulties,  1831;  in  Lon- 
don, 1831,  where  he  failed  to  get  'Sartor  Resartus'  published;  returned  to 
Craigenputtock,  1832;  removed  to  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  1834;  the  manu- 
script of  the  first  volume  of  his  'French  Revolution'  accidentally  burnt  by 
John  Stuart  Mill,  March  1835;  met  John  Sterling,  1835;  published 
his  'French  Revolution,'  1837,  and  made  his  reputation;  gave  four  lecture- 
courses  in  London,  1837-40,  the  last  on  'Hero-worship'  (published  1841); 
urged  formation  of  London  Library,  1839;  published  'Chartism,'  1839, 
'Past  and  Present,'  1843,  and  'Oliver  Cromwell,'  1845;  visited  Ireland, 
1846  and  1849;  published  'Life  of  Sterling,'  1851;  wrote 'Frederick  the 
Great,'  1851-1865  (published  1858-65);  travelled  in  Germany,  1852  and 
1858;  lord  rector  of  Edinburgh  University,  1865-6;  lost  his  wife,  1866; 
wrote  his  'Reminiscences'  (published  1881);  published  pamphlet  in  favour 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  8 1 

of  Germany  in  regard  to  Franco-German  war,  1870;  his  right  hand  para- 
lysed, 1872;  received  the  Prussian  order  of  merit,  1874;  buried  at  Eccle- 
fechan;  benefactor  of  Edinburgh  University.  His  'Collected  Works'  first 
appeared  1857-8.  His  'life'  was  written  with  great  frankness  by  his  friend 
and  disciple,  James  Anthony  Froude. — Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N.  B. 

"The  paper  of  this  poor  Notebook  of  hers  is  done;  all  I  have  to  say,  too 
(though  there  lie  such  volumes  yet  unsaid),  seems  to  be  almost  done:  and 
I  must  sorrowfully  end  it,  and  seek  for  something  else.  Very  sorrowfully 
still ;  for  it  has  been  my  sacred  shrine,  and  religious  city  of  refuge  from  the 
bitterness  of  these  sorrows,  during  all  the  doleful  weeks  that  are  past  since  I 
took  it  up:  a  kind  of  devotional  thing  (as  I  once  already  said),  which  softens 
all  grief  into  tenderness  and  infinite  pity  and  repentant  love;  one's  whole  sad 
life  drowned  as  if  in  tears  for  one,  and  all  the  wrath  and  scorn  and  other  grim 
elements  silently  melted  away.  And  now,  am  I  to  leave  it ;  to  take  farewell 
of  Her  a  second  time?  Right  silent  and  serene  is  She,  my  lost  Darling 
yonder,  as  I  often  think  in  my  gloom;  no  sorrow  more  for  Her,  —  nor  will 
there  long  be  for  me."  —  CARLYLE,  Note  at  end  of  Reminiscences  of  Jane 
Welsh  Carlyle. 

"Two  hours  of  hysterics  can  be  no  good  matter  for  a  sick  nurse,  and  the 
strange,  hard  old  being,  in  so  lamentable  and  yet  human  a  desolation  — 
crying  out  like  a  burnt  child,  and  yet  always  wisely  and  beautifully  —  how 
can  that  end,  as  a  piece  of  reading,  even  to  the  strong  —  but  on  the  brink  of 
the  most  cruel  kind  of  weeping?  I  observe  the  old  man's  style  is  stronger 
on  me  than  ever  it  was,  and  by  rights,  too,  since  I  have  just  laid  down  his 
most  attaching  book.  God  rest  the  baith  o'  them !  But  even  if  they  do  not 
meet  again,  how  we  should  all  be  strengthened  to  be  kind,  and  not  only  in 
act,  in  speech  also,  that  so  much  more  important  part.  See  what  this  apostle 
of  silence  most  regrets,  not  speaking  out  his  heart."  —  ROBERT  Louis 
STEVENSON,  Letter  to  Colvin,  "Spring,  1881,"  Letters,  Vol.  I,  p.  231. 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York,  1899.] 


She1  liked  London  constantly;  and  stood  in  defence  of  it  against 
me  and  my  atrabilious  censures  of  it;  never  had  for  herself  the 
least  wish  to  quit  it  again,  though  I  was  often  talking  of  that,  and 
her  practice  would  have  been  loyal  compliance  for  my  behoof.  I 
well  remember  my  first  walking  her  up  to  Hyde  Park  Corner  in  the 
summer  evening,  and  her  fine  interest  in  everything.  At  the  corner 
of  the  Green  Park,  I  found  something  for  her  to  sit  on;  "Hah, 
there  is  John  Mill  coming!"  I  said;  and  her  joyful  ingenuous 
blush  is  still  very  beautiful  to  me.  The  good  Child !  It  did  not 
prove  to  be  John  Mill  (whom  she  knew  since  1831,  and  liked  for  my 
sake) :  but  probably  I  showed  her  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  whom 

1  Mrs.  Carlyle. 


82  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

one  often  used  to  see  there,  striding  deliberately  along,  as  if  home 
from  his  work,  about  that  hour :  him  (I  almost  rather  think,  that 
same  evening),  and  at  any  rate,  other  figures  of  distinction  or 
notoriety.  And  we  said  to  one  another,  "How  strange  to  be  in 
big  London  here;  isn't  it?"  —  Our  purchase  of  household  kettles 
and  saucepans  etc.  in  the  mean  Ironmongery,  so  noble  in  its  poverty 
and  loyalty  on  her  part,  is  sad  and  infinitely  lovely  to  me  at  this 
moment. 

We  had  plenty  of  "  company  "  from  the  very  first :  John  Mill, 
down  from  Kensington  once  a  week  or  oftener;  the  "  Mrs.  Austin  " 
of  those  days,  so  popular  and  almost  famous,  on  such  exiguous  basis 
(Translations  from  the  German,  poorly  done,  and  of  original  noth- 
ing that  rose  far  above  the  rank  of  twaddle) :  "femme  alors  celebre, " 
as  we  used  to  term  the  phenomenon,  parodying  some  phrase  I  had 
found  in  Thiers:  Mrs.  Austin  affected  much  sisterhood  with  us 
(affected  mainly,  though  in  kind  wise) ;  and  was  a  cheery,  sanguine, 
and  generally  acceptable  member  of  society,  —  already  up  to  the 
Marquis  of  Lansdowne  (in  a  slight  sense),  much  more  to  all  the 
Radical  Officials  and  notables :  Charles  Buller,  Sir  W.  Molesworth, 
etc.  etc.  of  "alors."  She  still  lives,  this  Mrs.  Austin,  in  quiet 
though  eclipsed  condition:  spring  last  she  was  in  Town  for  a 
couple  of  weeks ;  and  my  Dear  One  went  twice  to  see  her,  though  I 
couldn't  manage  quite.  —  Erasmus  Darwin,  a  most  diverse  kind  of 
mortal,  came  to  seek  us  out  very  soon  ("had  heard  of  Carlyle 
in  Germany"  etc.) ;  and  continues  ever  since  to  be  a  quiet  house- 
friend,  honestly  attached ;  though  his  visits  latterly  have  been  rarer 
and  rarer,  health  so  poor,  I  so  occupied,  etc.  etc.  He  has  some- 
thing of  original  and  sarcastically  ingenious  in  him;  one  of  the 
sincerest,  naturally  truest,  and  most  modest  of  men.  Elder  brother 
of  Charles  Darwin  (the  famed  Darwin  on  Species  of  these  days) ,  to 
whom  I  rather  prefer  him  for  intellect,  had  not  his  health  quite 
doomed  him  to  silence  and  patient  idleness; —  Grandsons,  both,  of 
the  first  famed  Erasmus  ("Botanic  Garden"  etc.),  who  also  seems 
to  have  gone  upon  "species"  questions;  "  Omnia  ex  Cone  his" 
(all  from  Oysters)  being  a  dictum  of  his  (even  a  stamp  he  sealed 
with,  still  extant),  as  the  present  Erasmus  once  told  me,  many 
long  years  before  this  of  "Darwin  on  Species"  came  up  among  us ! 
Wonderful  to  me,  as  indicating  the  capricious  stupidity  of  mankind; 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  83 

never  could  read  a  page  of  it,  or  waste  the  least  thought  upon 
it.  Erasmus  Darwin  it  was  who  named  the  late  Whewell,  seeing 
him  sit,  all  ear  (not  all  assent)  at  some  of  my  Lectures,  "The  Har- 
monious Blacksmith;"  a  really  descriptive  title.  My  Dear  One 
had  a  great  favour  for  this  honest  Darwin  always ;  many  a  road,  to 
shops  and  the  like,  he  drove  her  in  his  Cab  (Darwingium  Cabbum, 
comparable  to  Gear  glum  Sidus),  in  those  early  days,  when  even  the 
charge  of  Omnibuses  was  a  consideration ;  and  his  sparse  utterances, 
sardonic  often,  were  a  great  amusement  to  her.  "A  perfect 
gentleman,"  she  at  once  discerned  him  to  be;  and  of  sound  worth, 
and  kindliness,  in  the  most  unaffected  form.  "Take  me  now  to 
Oxygen  Street;  a  dyer's  shop  there !"  Darwin,  without  a  wrinkle 
or  remark,  made  for  Oxenden  Street  and  drew  up  at  the  required 
door.  Amusingly  admirable  to  us  both,  when  she  came  home. 

Our  commonest  evening  sitter,  for  a  good  while,  was  Leigh  Hunt, 
who  lived  close  by,  and  delighted  to  sit  talking  with  us  (free,  cheery, 
idly  melodious  as  bird  on  bough),  or  listening,  with  real  feeling,  to 
her  old  Scotch  tunes  on  the  Piano,  and  winding  up  with  a  frugal 
morsel  of  Scotch  Porridge  (endlessly  admirable  to  Hunt)  —  I  think 
I  spoke  of  this  above  ?  Hunt  was  always  accurately  dressed,  these 
evenings,  and  had  a  fine  chivalrous  gentlemanly  carriage,  polite, 
affectionate,  respectful  (especially  to  her)  and  yet  so  free  and 
natural.  Her  brilliancy  and  faculty  he  at  once  recognised,  none 
better;  but  there  rose  gradually  in  it,  to  his  astonished  eye, 
something  of  positive,  of  practically  steadfast,  which  scared  him 
off,  a  good  deal ;  the  like  in  my  own  case  too,  still  more ;  —  which 
he  would  call  "Scotch,"  "Presbyterian,"  who  knows  what;  and 
which  gradually  repelled  him,  in  sorrow,  not  in  anger,  quite  away 
from  us,  with  rare  exceptions,  which,  in  his  last  years,  were  almost 
pathetic  to  us  both.  Long  before  this,  he  had  gone  to  live  in  Ken- 
sington ;  —  and  we  scarcely  saw  him  except  by  accident.  His 
Household,  while  in  "4  Upper  Cheyne  Row,"  within  few  steps 
of  us  here,  almost  at  once  disclosed  itself  to  be  huggermugger, 
wwthrift,  and  sordid  collapse,  once  for  all;  and  had  to  be 
associated  with  on  cautious  terms ;  —  while  he  himself  emerged 
out  of  it  in  the  chivalrous  figure  I  describe.  Dark  complex- 
ion (a  trace  of  the  African,  I  believe),  copious  clean  strong 
black  hair,  beautifully-shaped  head,  fine  beaming  serious  hazel 


84  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

eyes;  seriousness  and  intellect  the  main  expression  of  the  face  (to 
our  surprise  at  first),  — he  would  lean  on  his  elbow  against  the 
mantel-piece  (fine  clean,  elastic  figure  too  he  had,  five  feet  ten  or 
more),  and  look  round  him  nearly  in  silence,  before  taking  leave 
for  the  night :  " as  if  I  were  a  Lar, "  said  he  once,  "or  a  permanent 
Household  God  here!"  (such  his  polite  Ariel-like  way).  Another 
time  rising  from  this  Lar  attitude,  he  repeated  (voice  very  fine)  as 
in  sport  of  parody,  yet  with  something  of  very  sad  perceptible: 
"While  I  to  sulphurous  and  penal  fire"  —as  the  last  thing  before 
vanishing.  Poor  Hunt !  no  more  of  him.  She,  I  remember,  was 
almost  in  tears  during  some  last  visit  of  his,  and  kind  and  pitying  as 
a  Daughter  to  the  now  weak  and  time-worn  old  man.  .  .  . 

By  much  the  tenderest  and  beautifullest  reminiscence  to  me 
out  of  those  years  is  that  of  the  Lecture  times.  The  vilest  welter 
of  odious  confusions,  horrors  and  repugnancies;  to  which,  mean- 
while, there  was  compulsion  absolute ;  —  and  to  which  she  was 
the  one  irradiation;  noble  loving  soul,  not  to  be  quenched  in  any 
chaos  that  might  come.  Oh,  her  love  to  me;  her  cheering,  un- 
affected, useful  practicality  of  help:  was  not  I  rich,  after  all? 
She  had  a  steady  hope  in  me,  too,  while  I  myself  had  habitually 
none  (except  of  the  "desperate"  kind) ;  nay  a  steady  contentment 
with  me,  and  with  our  lot  together,  let  hope  be  as  it  might.  "  Never 
mind  him,  my  Dear,"  whispered  Miss  Wilson  to  her,  one  day,  as 
I  stood  wriggling  in  my  agony  of  incipiency,  "people  like  it;  the 
more  of  that,  the  better  does  the  Lecture  prove ! "  Wrhich  was  a 
truth;  though  the  poor  Sympathiser  might,  at  the  moment,  feel 
it  harsh.  This  Miss  Wilson  and  her  brother  still  live;  opulent, 
fine,  Church  of  England  people  (scrupulously  orthodox  to  the 
secularities  not  less  than  the  spiritualities  of  that  creed),  and  Miss 
Wilson  very  clever  too  (i.e.  full  of  strong  just  insight  in  her  way) ; 
—  who  had  from  the  first  taken  to  us,  and  had  us  much  about  them 
(Spedding,  Maurice,  etc.  attending)  then  and  for  some  years 
afterwards ;  very  desirous  to  help  us,  if  that  could  have  much  done 
it  (for  indeed,  to  me,  it  was  always  mainly  an  indigestion  purchased 
by  a  loyal  kind  of  weariness).  I  have  seen  Sir  James  Stephen 
there,  but  did  not  then  understand  him,  or  that  he  could  be  a 
"clever  man,"  as  reported  by  Henry  Taylor  and  other  good  judges. 
"He  shuts  his  eyes  on  you,"  said  the  elder  Spring-Rice  (Lord 


LIFE   IN   LONDON  85 

Monteagle),  "and  talks  as  if  he  were  dictating  a  Colonial  De- 
spatch "  (most  true ;  —  "  teaching  you  How  Not  to  do  it,"  as  Dickens 
denned  afterwards) :  one  of  the  pattest  things  I  ever  heard  from 
Spring-Rice,  who  had  rather  a  turn  for  such.  Stephen  ultimately, 
when  on  half-pay  and  a  Cambridge  Professor,  used  to  come  down 
hither  pretty  often  on  an  evening;  and  we  heard  a  great  deal  of 
talk  from  him,  recognisably  serious  and  able,  though  always  in 
that  Colonial-Office  style,  more  or  less.  Colonial-Office  being  an 
Impotency  (as  Stephen  inarticulately,  though  he  never  said  or 
whispered  it,  well  knew),  what  could  an  earnest  and  honest  kind 
of  man  do,  but  try  and  teach  you  How  not  to  do  it?  Stephen 
seemed  to  me  a  master  in  that  art.  — 

The  Lecture  time  fell  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  Sterling  Period, 
—  which  latter  must  have  lasted  in  all,  counting  till  John's  death, 
about  ten  years  (Autumn  1844  when  John  died).  To  my  Jeannie, 
I  think,  this  was  clearly  the  sunniest  and  wholesomest  element 
in  her  then  outer  life.  All  the  Household  loved  her;  and  she  had 
virtually,  by  her  sense,  by  her  felt  loyalty,  expressed  oftenest  in  a 
gay  mildly  quizzing  manner,  a  real  influence,  a  kind  of  light  com- 
mand one  might  almost  call  it,  willingly  yielded  her  among  them. 
Details  of  this  are  in  print  (as  I  said  above).  —  In  the  same  years, 
Mrs.  Buller  (Charles's  mother)  was  a  very  cheerful  item  to  her. 
Mrs.  Buller  (a  whilom  Indian  Beauty,  Wit  and  finest  Fine  Lady), 
who  had  at  all  times  a  very  recognising  eye  for  talent,  and  real 
reverence  for  it,  very  soon  made  out  something  of  my  little  woman ; 
and  took  more  and  more  to  her,  all  the  time  she  lived  after.  Mrs. 
Buller's  circle  was  gay  and  populous  at  this  time  (Radical,  chiefly 
Radical,  lions  of  every  complexion),  and  we  had  as  much  of  it  as 
we  would  consent  to.  I  remember  being  at  Leatherhead  too ;  — 
and,  after  that,  a  pleasant  rustic  week  at  Troston  Parsonage 
(in  Suffolk,  where  Mrs.  Buller's  youngest  son  "served,"  and 
serves) ;  which  Mrs.  Buller  contrived  very  well  to  make  the  best 
of,  sending  me  to  ride  for  three  days  in  Oliver  Cromwell's  country, 
that  she  might  have  the  Wife  more  to  herself.  My  Jane  must  have 
been  there  altogether,  I  dare  say,  near  a  month  (had  gone  before 
me,  returned  after  me) ;  and  I  regretted  never  to  have  seen  the 
place  again.  This  must  have  been  in  September  or  October  1842 ; 
Mrs.  Welsh's  death  in  early  Spring  past.  I  remember  well  my 


86  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

feelings  in  Ely  Cathedral,  in  the  close  of  sunset  or  dusk ;  the  place 
was  open,  free  to  me  without  witnesses ;  people  seemed  to  be  tuning 
the  organ,  which  went  in  solemn  gusts  far  aloft;  the  thought  of 
Oliver,  and  his  "Leave  off  your  fooling,  and  come  down,  Sir!"  l 
was  almost  as  if  audible  to  me.  Sleepless  night,  owing  to  Cathedral 
bells,  and  strange  ride  next  day  to  St.  Ives,  to  Hinchinbrook,  etc., 
and  thence  to  Cambridge,  with  thundercloud  and  lightning  dogging 
me  to  rear,  and  bursting  into  torrents  few  minutes  after  I  got  into 
the  Hoop  Inn.  — 

My  poor  Darling  had,  for  constant  accompaniment  to  all  her 
bits  of  satisfactions,  an  altogether  weak  state  of  health,  continually 
breaking  down,  into  violent  fits  of  headache  in  her  best  times,  and 
in  winter-season  into  cough,  etc.,  in  lingering  forms  of  a  quite  sad 
and  exhausting  sort.  Wonderful  to  me  how  she,  so  sensitive  a 
creature,  maintained  her  hoping  cheerful  humour  to  such  a  degree, 
amidst  all  that;  and,  except  the  pain  of  inevitable  sympathy,  and 
vague  fluttering  fears,  gave  me  no  pain.  Careful  always  to  screen 
me  from  pain,  as  I  by  no  means  always  reciprocally  was ;  alas,  no ; 
miserable  egoist  in  comparison !  At  this  time  I  must  have  been 
in  the  thick  of  Cromwell;  "four  years"  of  abstruse  toil,  obscure 
tentations,  futile  wrestling,  and  misery,  I  used  to  count  it  had  cost 
me,  before  I  took  to  editing  the  Letters  and  Speeches  ("to  have 
them  out  of  my  way") ;  which  rapidly  drained  off  the  sour  swamp 
water  bodily,  and  left  me,  beyond  all  first  expectations,  quite  free 
of  the  matter.  Often  I  have  thought  how  miserable  my  Books 
must  have  been  to  her;  and  how,  though  they  were  none  of  her 
choosing,  and  had  come  upon  her  like  ill  weather  or  ill  health,  she 
at  no  instant  (never  once,  I  do  believe)  made  the  least  complaint 
of  me  or  my  behaviour  (often  bad,  or  at  least  thoughtless  and  weak) 
under  them !  Always  some  quizzing  little  lesson,  the  purport  and 
effect  of  which  was  to  encourage  me ;  never  once  anything  worse. 
Oh,  it  was  noble;  —  and  I  see  it  so  well  now,  when  it  is  gone  from 
me,  and  no  return  possible ! 

Cromwell  was  by  much  the  worst  Book-time;  till  this  of 
Friedrich;  which  indeed  was  infinitely  worse;  in  the  dregs  of  our 
strength  too;  —  and  lasted  for  about  thirteen  years.  She  was 

1  Cromwell's  Letters  and  Speeches  (Library  Edition,  1869),  I,  185. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  87 

generally  in  quite  weak  health,  too,  and  was  often,  for  long  weeks 
or  months,  miserably  ill.  .  .  . 

It  was  strange  how  she  contrived  to  sift  out  of  such  a  troublous 
forlorn  day  as  hers,  in  such  case,  was,  all  the  available  little  items ; 
as  she  was  sure  to  do,  —  and  to  have  them  ready  for  me  in  the 
evening  when  my  work  was  done ;  in  the  prettiest  little  narrative 
anybody  could  have  given  of  such  things.  Never  again  shall  I 
have  such  melodious,  humanly  beautiful  Half-hours ;  they  were  the 
rainbow  of  my  poor  dripping  day,  —  and  reminded  me  that  there 
otherwise  was  a  Sun.  At  this  time,  and  all  along,  she  "did  all 
the  society;"  was  all  brightness  to  the  one  or  two  (oftenest  rather 
dull  and  prosaic  fellows,  for  all  the  better  sort  respected  my  seclu- 
sion, especially  during  that  last  Friedrich  time),  whom  I  needed 
to  see  on  my  affairs  in  hand,  or  who,  with  more  of  brass  than  others, 
managed  to  intrude  upon  me:  for  these  she  did,  in  their  several 
kinds,  her  very  best;  all  of  her  own  people,  whom  I  might  be  apt 
to  feel  wearisome  (dislike  any  of  them  I  never  did,  or  his  or  her 
discharge  from  service  would  have  swiftly  followed),  she  kept 
beautifully  out  of  my  way,  saving  my  "politeness"  withal:  a  very 
perfect  skill  she  had  in  all  this.  And  took  my  dark  toiling  periods, 
however  long  sullen  and  severe  they  might  be,  with  a  loyalty  and 
heart- acquiescence  that  never  failed.  The  heroic  little  soul ! 

Latter-Day  Pamphlet  time,  and  especially  the  time  that  pre- 
ceded it  (1848  etc.)  must  have  been  very  sore  and  heavy:  my  heart 
was  long  overloaded  with  the  meanings  at  length  uttered  there, 
and  no  way  of  getting  them  set  forth  would  answer.  I  forget  what 
ways  I  tried,  or  thought  of;  Times  Newspaper  was  one  (alert, 
airy,  rather  vacant  editorial  gentleman  I  remember  going  to  once, 
in  Printing  House  Square) ;  but  this  way  of  course,  proved  hy- 
pothetical merely,  —  as  all  others  did,  till  we,  as  last  shift,  gave 
the  rough  MSS.  to  Chapman  (in  Forster's  company  one  winter 
Sunday).  About  half  of  the  ultimately  printed  might  be  in  Chap- 
man's hands ;  but  there  was  much  manipulation  as  well  as  addition 
needed.  Forster  soon  fell  away,  I  could  perceive,  into  terror  and 
surprise ;  —  as  indeed  everybody  did :  "  A  lost  man ! "  thought 
everybody.  Not  she  at  any  moment;  much  amused  by  the  out- 
side pother,  she ;  and  glad  to  see  me  getting  delivered  of  my  black 
electricities  and  consuming  fires,  in  that  way.  Strange  letters 


88  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

came  to  us,  during  those  nine  months  of  pamphleteering ;  strange 
visitors  (of  moonstruck  unprofitable  type  for  most  part),  who  had, 
for  one  reason  or  another,  been  each  of  them  wearing  himself 
half-mad  on  some  one  of  the  public  scandals  I  was  recognizing 
and  denouncing.  I  still  remember  some  of  their  faces,  and  the 
look  their  paper  bundles  had.  She  got  a  considerable  entertain- 
ment out  of  all  that ;  went  along  with  me  in  everything  (probably 
counselling  a  little  here  and  there;  a  censorship  well  worth  my 
regarding,  and  generally  adaptable,  here  as  everywhere);  and 
minded  no  whit  any  results  that  might  follow  this  evident  speaking 
of  the  truth.  Somebody,  writing  from  India  I  think,  and  clearly 
meaning  kindness,  "did  hope"  (some  time  afterwards)  "the  tide 
would  turn,  and  this  lamentable  Hostility  of  the  Press  die  away 
into  friendship  again ;  "  at  which  I  remember  our  innocent  laugh- 
ter,—  ignorant  till  then  what  "The  Press's"  feelings  were,  and 
leaving  "The  Press"  very  welcome  to  them  then.  Neuberg 
helped  me  zealously,  as  volunteer  amanuensis  etc.,  through  all 
this  business;  but  I  know  not  that  even  he  approved  it  all,  or 
any  of  it  to  the  bottom.  In  the  whole  world  I  had  one  com- 
plete Approver;  in  that,  as  in  other  cases,  one;  and  it  was 
worth  all. 

On  the  back  of  Latter-Day  Pamphlets  followed  Life  of  Sterling; 
a  very  quiet  thing;  but  considerably  disapproved  of  too,  as  I 
learned ;  and  utterly  revolting  to  the  Religious  people  in  particular 
(to  my  surprise  rather  than  otherwise) :  "  Doesn't  believe  in  us, 
then,  either?"  Not  he,  for  certain;  can't,  if  you  will  know! 
Others  urged  disdainfully,  "  What  has  Sterling  done  that  he  should 
have  a  Life?"  "Induced  Carlyle  somehow  to  write  him  one!" 
answered  she  once  (to  the  Ferguses,  I  think)  in  an  arch  airy  way, 
which  I  can  well  fancy;  and  which  shut  up  the  question  there. 
The  book  was  afterwards  greatly  praised,  — again,  on  rather  weak 
terms,  I  doubt.  What  now  will  please  me  best  in  it,  and  alone  will, 
was  then  an  accidental  quality,  —  the  authentic  light,  under  the 
due  conditions,  that  is  thrown  by  it  on  her.  Oh,  my  Dear  One; 
sad  is  my  soul  for  the  loss  of  Thee,  and  will  to  the  end  be,  as  I 
compute !  Lonelier  creature  there  is  not  henceforth  in  this  world ; 
neither  person,  work,  nor  thing  going  on  in  it  that  is  of  any  value, 
in  comparison,  or  even  at  all.  Death  I  feel  almost  daily  in  express 


LIFE   IN   LONDON  89 

fact,  Death  is  the  one  haven;  and  have  occasionally  a  kind  of 
kingship,  sorrowful,  but  sublime,  almost  godlike,  in  the  feeling 
that  that  is  nigh.  Sometimes  the  image  of  Her,  gone  in  her  car 
of  victory  (in  that  beautiful  death),  and  as  if  nodding  to  me  with 
a  smile,  "  I  am  gone,  loved  one ;  work  a  little  longer,  if  thou  still 
canst ;  if  not,  follow  !  There  is  no  baseness,  and  no  misery  here. 
Courage,  courage  to  the  last!"  —  that,  sometimes,  as  in  this  mo- 
ment, is  inexpressibly  beautiful  to  me,  and  comes  nearer  to  bringing 
tears  than  it  once  did. 

In  1852  had  come  the  new-modelling  of  our  House;  —  attended 
with  infinite  dusty  confusion  (head-carpenter  stupid,  though  hon- 
est, fell  ill,  etc.  etc.) ;  confusion  falling  upon  her  more  than  me, 
and  at  length  upon  her  altogether.  She  was  the  architect,  guiding 
and  directing  and  contriving  genius,  in  all  that  enterprise,  seem- 
ingly so  foreign  to  her.  But,  indeed,  she  was  ardent  in  it ;  and  she 
had  a  talent  that  way  which  was  altogether  unique  in  my  expe- 
rience. An  "eye"  first  of  all;  equal  in  correctness  to  a  joiner's 
square,  —  this,  up  almost  from  her  childhood,  as  I  understood. 
Then  a  sense  of  order,  sense  of  beauty,  of  wise  and  thrifty  con- 
venience ;  —  sense  of  wisdom  altogether  in  fact ;  for  that  was  it ! 
A  human  intellect  shining  luminous  in  every  direction,  the  highest 
and  the  lowest  (as  I  remarked  above) ;  in  childhood  she  used  to  be 
sent  to  seek  when  things  fell  lost;  "the  best  seeker  of  us  all," 
her  Father  would  say,  or  look  (as  she  thought) :  for  me  also  she 
sought  everything,  with  such  success  as  I  never  saw  elsewhere. 
It  was  she  who  widened  our  poor  drawing-room  (as  if  by  a  stroke 
of  genius)  and  made  it  (zealously,  at  the  partial  expense  of  three 
feet  from  her  own  bedroom)  into  what  it  now  is,  one  of  the  prettiest 
little  drawing-rooms  I  ever  saw,  and  made  the  whole  house  into  what 
it  now  is.  How  frugal,  too,  and  how  modest  about  it !  House  was 
hardly  finished,  when  there  arose  that  of  the  "Demon-Fowls," 
—  as  she  appropriately  named  them :  macaws,  Cochin-chinas, 
endless  concert  of  crowing,  cackling,  shrieking  roosters  (from  a 
bad  or  misled  neighbour,  next  door)  which  cut  us  off  from  sleep 
or  peace,  at  times  altogether,  and  were  like  to  drive  me  mad,  and 
her  through  me,  through  sympathy  with  me.  From  which  also 
she  was  my  deliverer,  —  had  delivered  and  contrived  to  deliver 
me  from  hundreds  of  such  things  (Oh,  my  beautiful  little  Alcides, 


90  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

in  the  new  days  of  Anarchy  and  the  Mud-gods,  threatening  to 
crush  down  a  poor  man,  and  kill  him  with  his  work  still  on  hand  !) 
I  remember  well  her  setting  off,  one  winter  morning,  from  the 
Grange  on  this  enterprise ;  —  probably  having  thought  of  it  most 
of  the  night  (sleep  denied),  she  said  to  me  next  morning  the  first 
thing:  "Dear,  we  must  extinguish  those  Demon- Fowls,  or  they 
will  extinguish  us !  Rent  the  house  (No.  6,  proprietor  mad  etc. 
etc.)  ourselves ;  it  is  but  some  4o/.  a  year,  —  pack  away  those  vile 
people,  and  let  it  stand  empty.  I  will  go  this  very  day  upon  it,  if 
you  assent ! "  And  she  went  accordingly ;  and  slew  altogether  this 
Lerna  Hydra;  at  far  less  expense  than  taking  the  house,  nay  al- 
most at  no  expense  at  all,  except  by  her  fine  intellect,  tact,  just 
discernment,  swiftness  of  decision,  and  general  nobleness  of  mind 
(in  short).  Oh,  my  bonny  little  woman;  mine  only  in  memory 
now!  — 

I  left  the  Grange  two  days  after  her,  on  this  occasion ;  hastening 
through  London,  gloomy  of  mind ;  to  see  my  dear  old  Mother  yet 
once  (if  I  might)  before  she  died.  She  had,  for  many  months 
before,  been  evidently  and  painfully  sinking  away,  —  under  no 
disease,  but  the  ever-increasing  infirmities  of  eighty-three  years  of 
time.  She  had  expressed  no  desire  to  see  me;  but  her  love  from 
my  birth  upwards,  under  all  scenes  and  circumstances,  I  knew 
to  be  emphatically  a  Mother's.  I  walked  from  the  Kirtle-bridge 
("Galls")  Station  that  dim  winter  morning;  my  one  thought, 
"Shall  I  see  her  yet  alive?"  She  was  still  there;  weary,  very 
weary,  and  wishing  to  be  at  rest.  I  think  she  only  at  times  knew 
me ;  so  bewildering  were  her  continual  distresses ;  once  she  entirely 
forgot  me ;  then,  in  a  minute  or  two,  asked  my  pardon  —  ah  me ! 
ah  me!  It  was  my  Mother  and  not  my  Mother;  the  last  pale 
rim  or  sickle  of  the  moon,  which  had  once  been/w//,  now  sinking 
in  the  dark  seas.  This  lasted  only  three  days.  Saturday  night 
she  had  her  full  faculties,  but  was  in  nearly  unendurable  misery ; 
not  breath  sufficient  etc.,  etc. :  John  tried  various  reliefs,  had  at 
last  to  give  a  few  drops  of  laudanum,  which  eased  the  misery,  and 
in  an  hour  or  two  brought  sleep.  All  next  day  she  lay  asleep, 
breathing  equally  but  heavily,  —  her  face  grand  and  solemn, 
almost  severe,  like  a  marble  statue;  about  four  P.M.  the  breathing 
suddenly  halted ;  recommenced  for  half  an  instant,  then  fluttered, 


LIFE  IN   LONDON  91 

—  ceased.1  "All  the  days  of  my  appointed  time,"  she  had  often 
said,  "will  I  wait,  till  my  change  come"  The  most  beautifully 
religious  soul  I  ever  knew.  Proud  enough  she  was  too,  though 
piously  humble;  and  full  of  native  intellect,  humour,  etc.,  though 
all  undeveloped.  On  the  religious  side,  looking  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  matter,  I  always  reckon  her  rather  superior  to  my  Jane,  who 
in  other  shapes  and  with  far  different  exemplars  and  conditions, 
had  a  great  deal  of  noble  religion  too.  Her  death  filled  me  with 
a  kind  of  dim  amazement,  and  crush  of  confused  sorrows,  which 
were  very  painful,  but  not  so  sharply  pathetic  as  I  might  have 
expected.  It  was  the  earliest  terror  of  my  childhood  that  I  "  might 
lose  my  Mother;"  and  it  had  gone  with  me  all  my  days:  —  But, 
and  that  is  probably  the  whole  account  of  it,  I  was  then  sunk  in 
the  miseries  of  Friedrich  etc.  etc.,  in  many  miseries;  and  was  then 
fifty-eight  years  of  age.  —  It  is  strange  to  me,  in  these  very  days, 
how  peaceable,  though  still  sacred  and  tender,  the  memory  of  my 
Mother  now  lies  in  me.  (This  very  morning,  I  got  into  dreaming 
confused  nightmare  stuff  about  some  funeral  and  her;  not  hers, 
nor  obviously  my  Jane's,  seemingly  my  Father's  rather,  and  she 
sending  me  on  it,  —  the  saddest  bewildered  stuff.  What  a  dismal 
debasing  and  confusing  element  is  that  of  a  sick  body  on  the  human 
soul  or  thinking  part !) 

It  was  in  1852  (September-October,  for  about  a  month)  that  I 
had  first  seen  Germany,  —  gone  on  my  first  errand  as  to  Friedrich: 
there  was  a  second,  five  years  afterwards ;  this  time  it  was  to  in- 
quire (of  Preuss  and  Co.);  to  look  about  me,  search  for  books, 
portraits,  etc.  etc.  I  went  from  Scotsbrig  (my  dear  old  Mother 
painfully  weak,  though  I  had  no  thought  it  would  be  the  last  time 
I  should  see  her  afoot) ;  —  from  Scotsbrig  by  Leith  for  Rotterdam, 
Koln,  Bonn  (Neuberg's) ;  —  and  on  the  whole  never  had  nearly  so 
(outwardly)  unpleasant  a  journey  in  my  life ;  till  the  second  and  last 
I  made  thither.  But  the  Chelsea  establishment  was  under  car- 
penters, painters ;  till  those  disappeared,  no  work  possible,  scarcely 
any  living  possible  (though  my  brave  woman  did  make  it  possible 
without  complaint) :  "  Stay  so  many  weeks,  all  painting  at  least 
shall  then  be  off!"  I  returned,  near  broken-down  utterly,  at  the 
set  time ;  and  alas,  was  met  by  a  foul  dabblement  of  paint  oozing 

1  Carlyle's  mother  died  at  Scotsbrig,  Ecclefechan,  December  25,  1853. 


92  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

downstairs :  the  painters  had  proved  treacherous  to  her ;  time  could 
not  be  kept !  It  was  the  one  instance  of  such  a  thing  here ;  and, 
except  the  first  sick  surprise,  I  now  recollect  no  more  of  it. 

"  Mamma,  wine  makes  cosy ! "  said  the  bright  little  one,  perhaps 
between  two  and  three  years  old,  her  Mother,  after  some  walk 
with  sprinkling  of  wet  or  the  like,  having  given  her  a  dram-glass 
of  wine  on  their  getting  home:  "Mamma,  wine  makes  cosy!" 
said  the  small  silver  voice,  gaily  sipping,  getting  its  new  bits  of 
insight  into  natural  philosophy !  What  "  pictures  "  has  my  Beauti- 
ful One  left  me ;  —  what  joys  can  surround  every  well-ordered 
human  hearth.  I  said  long  since,  I  never  saw  so  beautiful  a  child- 
hood. Her  little  bit  of  a  first  chair,  its  wee  wee  arms,  etc.,  visible 
to  me  in  the  closet  at  this  moment,  is  still  here,  and  always  was; 
I  have  looked  at  it  hundreds  of  times;  from  of  old,  with  many 
thoughts.  No  daughter  or  son  of  hers  was  to  sit  there ;  so  it  had 
been  appointed  us,  my  Darling.  I  have  no  Book  a  thousandth-part 
so  beautiful  as  Thou;  but  these  were  our  only  "  Children,"  - 
and,  in  a  true  sense,  these  were  verily  OURS;  and  will  perhaps 
live  some  time  in  the  world,  after  we  are  both  gone ;  —  and  be  of 
no  damage  to  the  poor  brute  chaos  of  a  world,  let  us  hope ! 
The  Will  of  the  Supreme  shall  be  accomplished:  Amen.  But  to 
proceed. 

Shortly  after  my  return  from  Germany  (next  summer  I  think, 
while  the  Cochin-chinas  were  at  work,  and  we  could  not  quit  the 
house,  having  spent  so  much  on  it, and  got  a  long  lease),  there 
began  a  new  still  worse  hurly-burly  of  the  building  kind;  that  of 
the  new  top-story,  —  whole  area  of  the  house  to  be  thrown  into 
one  sublime  garret-room,  lighted  from  above,  thirty  feet  by  thirty 
say,  and  at  least  eleven  feet  high;  double-doored,  doubled- win- 
dowed ;  impervious  to  sound,  to  —  in  short,  to  everything  but  self 
and  work!  I  had  my  grave  doubts  about  all  this;  but  John 
Chorley,  in  his  friendly  zeal,  warmly  urged  it  on;  pushed,  super- 
intended ;  —  and  was  a  good  deal  disgusted  with  my  dismal 
experience  of  the  result.  Something  really  good  might  have  come 
of  it  in  a  scene  where  good  and  faithful  work  was  to  be  had  on  the 
part  of  all,  from  architect  downwards;  but  here,  from  all  (except 
one  good  young  man  of  the  carpenter  trade,  whom  I  at  length 
noticed  thankfully  in  small  matters),  the  "work,"  of  planning  to 


LIFE   IN  LONDON 


93 


begin  with,  and  then  of  executing,  in  all  its  details,  was  mere  work 
of  Belial,  i.e.  of  the  Father  of  LIES;  such  "work"  as  I  had  not 
conceived  the  possibility  of  among  the  sons  of  Adam  till  then. 
By  degrees,  I  perceived  it  to  be  the  ordinary  English  "work"  of 
this  epoch;  —  and,  with  manifold  reflections,  deep  as  Tophet, 
on  the  outlooks  this  offered  for  us  all,  endeavoured  to  be  silent  as  to 
my  own  little  failure.  My  new  illustrious  "Study"  was  definable 
as  the  least  inhabitable,  and  most  entirely  detestable  and  despic- 
able bit  of  human  workmanship  in  that  kind.  Sad  and  odious  to 
me  very.  But,  by  many  and  long-continued  efforts,  with  endless 
botherations  which  lasted  for  two  or  three  years  after  (one  winter 
starved  by  "Arnott's  improved  grate"  I  recollect),  I  did  get  it 
patched  together  into  something  of  supportability ;  and  continued, 
though  under  protest,  to  inhabit  it  during  all  working  hours,  as  I 
had  indeed  from  the  first  done.  The  whole  of  the  now  printed 
Friedrich  was  written  there  (or  in  summer  in  the  back  court  and 
garden,  when  driven  down  by  baking  heat) ;  much  rawer  matter,  I 
think,  was  tentatively  on  paper,  before  this  sublime  new  "Study." 
Friedrich  once  done,  I  quitted  the  place  for  ever ;  and  it  is  now  a 
bedroom  for  the  servants.  The  "architect"  for  this  beautiful  bit 
of  masonry  and  carpentry  was  one  "Parsons,"  really  a  clever 
creature,  I  could  see,  but  swimming  as  for  dear  life  in  a  mere 
"Mother  of  Dead  Dogs"  (ultimately  did  become  bankrupt);  his 
men  of  all  types,  Irish  hodmen  and  upwards,  for  real  mendacity 
of  hand,  for  drunkenness,  greediness,  mutinous  nomadism,  and 
anarchic  malfeasance  throughout,  excelled  all  experience  or  con- 
ception. Shut  the  lid  on  their  "  unexampled  prosperity  "  and  them, 
for  evermore. 

The  sufferings  of  my  poor  little  woman,  throughout  all  this,  must 
have  been  great,  though  she  whispered  nothing  of  them,  —  the 
rather,  as  this  was  my  enterprise  (both  the  Friedrich  and  it) ;  — 
indeed  it  was  by  her  address  and  invention  that  I  got  my  sooterkin 
of  a  "study"  improved  out  of  its  worst  blotches;  it  was  she,  for 
example,  that  went  silently  to  Bramah's  smith  people,  and  got  me  a 
fireplace,  of  merely  human  sort,  which  actually  warmed  the  room 
and  sent  Arnott's  miracle  about  its  business.  But  undoubtedly 
that  Friedrich  affair,  with  its  many  bad  adjuncts,  was  much  the 
worst  we  ever  had;  and  sorely  tried  us  both.  It  lasted  thirteen 


94  THOMAS   CARLYLE 

years  or  more.  To  me  a  desperate  dead-lift  pull  all  that  time; 
my  whole  strength  devoted  to  it;  alone,  withdrawn  from  all  the 
world  (except  some  bores  who  would  take  no  hint,  almost  nobody 
came  to  see  me,  nor  did  I  wish  almost  anybody  then  left  living 
for  me),  all  the  world  withdrawing  from  me;  I  desperate  of  ever 
getting  through  (not  to  speak  of  '•  succeeding ") ;  left  solitary 
"with  the  nightmares"  (as  I  sometimes  expressed  it),  "hugging 
unclean  creatures"  (Prussian  Blockheadism)  "to  my  bosom, 
trying  to  caress  and  flatter  their  secret  out  of  them  !"  Why  do  I 
speak  of  all  this  ?  It  is  now  become  coprolith  to  me,  insignificant 
as  the  dung  of  a  thousand  centuries  ago:  I  did  get  through, 
thank  God ;  let  it  now  wander  into  the  belly  of  oblivion  for  ever. 
But  what  I  do  still,  and  shall  more  and  more,  remember  with  loving 
admiration  is  her  behaviour  in  it.  She  was  habitually  in  the  fee- 
blest health;  often,  for  long  whiles,  grievously  ill.  Yet  by  an 
alchemy  all  her  own,  she  had  extracted  grains  as  of  gold  out  of 
every  day,  and  seldom  or  never  failed  to  have  something  bright  and 
pleasant  to  tell  me,  when  I  reached  home  after  my  evening  ride, 
the  most  fordone  of  men.  In  all,  I  rode,  during  that  book,  some 
30,000  miles,  much  of  it  (all  the  winter  part  of  it)  under  cloud  of 
night,  sun  just  setting  when  I  mounted.  All  the  rest  of  the  day, 
I  sat  silent  aloft ;  insisting  upon  work,  and  such  work,  invitissimd 
Minerva  for  that  matter.  Home  between  five  and  six,  with  mud 
mackintoshes  off,  and,  the  nightmares  locked  up  for  a  while,  I 
tried  for  an  hour's  sleep  before  my  (solitary,  dietetic,  altogether 
simple)  bit  of  dinner;  but  first  always  came  up  for  half  an  hour  to 
the  drawing-room  and  Her;  where  a  bright  kindly  fire  was  sure 
to  be  burning  (candles  hardly  lit,  all  in  trustful  chiaroscuro),  and  a 
spoonful  of  brandy  in  water,  with  a  pipe  of  tobacco  (which-  I  had 
learned  to  take  sitting  on  the  rug,  with  my  back  to  the  jamb,  and 
door  never  so  little  open,  so  that  all  the  smoke,  if  I  was  careful, 
went  up  the  chimney) :  this  was  the  one  bright  portion  of  my 
black  day.  Oh,  those  evening  half-hours,  how  beautiful  and 
blessed  they  were,  —  not  awaiting  me  now  on  my  home-coming, 
for  the  last  ten  weeks !  She  was  of tenest  reclining  on  the  sofa ; 
wearied  enough,  she  too,  with  her  day's  doings  and  endurings. 
But  her  history,  even  of  what  was  bad,  had  such  grace  and  truth, 
and  spontaneous  tinkling  melody  of  a  naturally  cheerful  and  loving 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  95 

heart,  that  I  never  anywhere  enjoyed  the  like.  Her  courage, 
patience,  silent  heroism,  meanwhile,  must  often  have  been  im- 
mense. Within  the  last  two  years  or  so  she  has  told  me  about 
my  talk  to  her  of  the  Battle  of  Mollwitz  on  these  occasions,  while 
that  was  on  the  anvil.  She  was  lying  on  the  sofa;  weak,  but  I 
knew  little  how  weak,  and  patient,  kind,  quiet  and  good  as  ever. 
After  tugging  and  wriggling  through  what  inextricable  labyrinth 
and  Sloughs-of-despond,  I  still  remember,  it  appears  I  had  at  last 
conquered  Mollwitz,  saw  it  all  clear  ahead  and  round  me,  and  took 
to  telling  her  about  it,  in  my  poor  bit  of  joy,  night  after  night. 
I  recollect  she  answered  little,  though  kindly  always.  Privately, 
she  at  that  time  felt  convinced  she  was  dying :  —  dark  winter,  and 
such  the  weight  of  misery  and  utter  decay  of  strength ;  —  and, 
night  after  night,  my  theme  to  her,  Mollwitz  I  This  she  owned 
to  me,  within  the  last  year  or  two ;  —  which  how  could  I  listen  to 
without  shame  and  abasement  ?  Never  in  my  pretended-superior 
kind  of  life,  have  I  done,  for  love  of  any  creature,  so  supreme  a 
kind  of  thing.  It  touches  me  at  this  moment  with  penitence  and 
humiliation,  yet  with  a  kind  of  soft  religious  blessedness  too.  — 
She  read  the  first  two  volumes  of  Friedrich,  much  of  it  in  printer's 
sheets  (while  on  visit  to  the  aged  Misses  Donaldson  at  Hadding- 
ton) ;  her  applause  (should  not  I  collect  her  fine  Notekins  and 
reposit  them  here  ?)  was  beautiful  and  as  sunlight  to  me,  —  for 
I  knew  it  was  sincere  withal,  and  unerringly  straight  upon  the  blot, 
however  exaggerated  by  her  great  love  of  me.  The  other  volumes 
(hardly  even  the  third,  I  think)  she  never  read,  —  I  knew  too  well 
why ;  and  submitted  without  murmur,  save  once  or  twice  perhaps 
a  little  quiz  on  the  subject,  which  did  not  afflict  her,  either.  Too 
weak,  too  weak  by  far,  for  a  dismal  enterprise  of  that  kind,  as  I 
knew  too  well !  But  those  Haddington  visits  were  very  beautiful 
to  her  (and  to  me  through  her  letters  and  her) ;  and  by  that  time 
we  were  over  the  hill  and  "the  worst  of  our  days  were  past"  (as 
poor  Irving  used  to  give  for  toast,  long  ago),  —  worst  of  them 
past,  though  we  did  not  yet  quite  know  it. 


96  CHARLES  DICKENS 

CHARLES   DICKENS 

HARD   EXPERIENCES   IN   BOYHOOD 

[From  The  Life  of  Charles  Dickens^  by  John  Forster,  Book  I,  Chaps.  I 
and  II.  Chapman  and  Hall,  London,  1872.  For  the  Life  of  Dickens,  see 
post,  p.  569. 

".  .  .  .  This  Third  Volume  throws  a  new  light  and  character  to  me  over 
the  Work  at  large.  I  incline  to  consider  this  Biography  as  taking  rank,  in 
essential  respects,  parallel  to  Boswell  himself,  though  on  widely  different 
grounds.  Boswell,  by  those  genial  abridgements  and  vivid  face  to  face 
pictures  of  Johnson's  thoughts,  conversational  ways,  and  modes  of  appear- 
ance among  his  fellow-creatures,  has  given,  as  you  often  hear  me  say,  such 
a  delineation  of  a  man's  existence  as  was  never  given  by  another  man.  By 
quite  different  resources,  by  those  sparkling,  clear,  and  sunny  utterances  of 
Dickens's  own  (bits  of  aw/a-biography  unrivalled  in  clearness  and  credibility) 
which  were  at  your  disposal,  and  have  been  intercalated  every  now  and 
then,  you  have  given  to  every  intelligent  eye  the  power  of  looking  down  to 
the  very  bottom  of  Dickens's  mode  of  existing  in  this  world;  and,  I  say, 
have  performed  a  feat  which,  except  in.  Boswell,  the  unique,  I  know  not 
where  to  parallel.  So  long  as  Dickens  is  interesting  to  his  fellow-men,  here 
will  be  seen,  face  to  face,  what  Dickens's  manner  of  existing  was.  His  bright 
and  joyful  sympathy  with  everything  around  him ;  his  steady  practicality, 
withal ;  the  singularly  solid  business  talent  he  continually  had ;  and,  deeper 
than  all,  if  one  has  the  eye  to  see  deep  enough,  dark,  fateful,  silent  elements, 
tragical  to  look  upon,  and  hiding,  amid  dazzling  radiances  as  of  the  sun, 
the  elements  of  death  itself.  Those  two  American  journeys  especially  tran- 
scend in  tragic  interest,  to  a  thinking  reader,  most  things  one  has  seen  in 
writing!"  —  THOMAS  CARLYLE,  Letter  to  the  Author,  16  February,  1874.] 

In  Bayham-street,  meanwhile,  affairs  were  going  on  badly;  the 
poor  boy's  visits  to  his  uncle,  while  the  latter  was  still  kept  a  pris- 
oner by  his  accident,  were  interrupted  by  another  attack  of  fever; 
and  on  his  recovery  the  mysterious  '  deed '  had  again  come  upper- 
most. His  father's  resources  were  so  low,  and  all  his  expedients 
so  thoroughly  exhausted,  that  trial  was  to  be  made  whether  his 
mother  might  not  come  to  the  rescue.  The  time  was  arrived  for 
her  to  exert  herself,  she  said;  and  she  'must  do  something/ 
The  godfather  down  at  Limehouse  was  reported  to  have  an  Indian 
connection.  People  in  the  East  Indies  always  sent  their  children 
home  to  be  educated.  She  would  set  up  a  school.  They  would 
all  grow  rich  by  it.  And  then,  thought  the  sick  boy,  'perhaps 
even  I  might  go  to  school  myself.' 

A  house  was  soon  found  at  number  four,  Gower-street  north; 


HARD  EXPERIENCES  IN  BOYHOOD  97 

a  large  brass  plate  on  the  door  announced  MRS.  DICKENS'S  ESTAB- 
LISHMENT ;  and  the  result  I  can  give  in  the  exact  words  of  the  then 
small  actor  in  the  comedy,  whose  hopes  it  had  raised  so  high. 
1 1  left,  at  a  great  many  other  doors,  a  great  many  circulars  calling 
attention  to  the  merits  of  the  establishment.  Yet  nobody  ever 
came  to  school,  nor  do  I  recollect  that  anybody  ever  proposed 
to  come,  or  that  the  least  preparation  was  made  to  receive  any- 
body. But  I  know  that  we  got  on  very  badly  with  the  butcher 
and  baker;  that  very  often  we  had  not  too  much  for  dinner;  and 
that  at  last  my  father  was  arrested.'  The  interval  between  the 
sponging-house  and  the  prison  was  passed  by  the  sorrowful  lad 
in  running  errands  and  carrying  messages  for  the  prisoner,  de- 
livered with  swollen  eyes  and  through  shining  tears ;  and  the  last 
words  said  to  him  by  his  father  before  he  was  finally  carried  to 
the  Marshalsea,  were  to  the  effect  that  the  sun  was  set  upon  him 
for  ever.  'I  really  believed  at  the  time,'  said  Dickens  to  me, 
'that  they  had  broken  my  heart.'  He  took  afterwards  ample 
revenge  for  this  false  alarm  by  making  all  the  world  laugh  at  them 
in  David  Copperfield. 

The  readers  of  Mr.  Micawber's  history  who  remember  David's 
first  visit  to  the  Marshalsea  prison,  and  how  upon  seeing  the  turn- 
key he  recalled  the  turnkey  in  the  blanket  in  Roderick  Random, 
will  read  with  curious  interest  what  follows,  written  as  a  personal 
experience  of  fact  two  or  three  years  before  the  fiction  had  even 
entered  into  his  thoughts. 

'My  father  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  lodge,  and  we  went  up 
to  his  room  (on  the  top  story  but  one),  and  cried  very  much. 
And  he  told  me,  I  remember,  to  take  warning  by  the  Marshal- 
sea,  and  to  observe  that  if  a  man  had  twenty  pounds  a-year,  and 
spent  nineteen  pounds  nineteen  shillings  and  sixpence,  he  would 
be  happy;  but  that  a  shilling  spent  the  other  way  would  make 
him  wretched.  I  see  the  fire  we  sat  before,  now;  with  two  bricks 
inside  the  rusted  grate,  one  on  each  side,  to  prevent  its  burning 
too  many  coals.  Some  other  debtor  shared  the  room  with  him, 
who  came  in  by-and-by;  and  as  the  dinner  was  a  joint-stock 
repast,  I  was  sent  up  to  "  Captain  Porter"  in  the  room  over- 
head, with  Mr.  Dickens's  compliments,  and  I  was  his  son,  and 
could  he,  Captain  P,  lend  me  a  knife  and  fork? 
H 


98  CHARLES  DICKENS 

'  Captain  Porter  lent  the  knife  and  fork,  with  his  compliments 
in  return.  There  was  a  very  dirty  lady  in  his  little  room;  and  two 
wan  girls,  his  daughters,  with  shock  heads  of  hair.  I  thought  I 
should  not  have  liked  to  borrow  Captain  Porter's  comb.  The 
Captain  himself  was  in  the  last  extremity  of  shabbiness;  and  if 
I  could  draw  at  all,  I  would  draw  an  accurate  portrait  of  the 
old,  old,  brown  great-coat  he  wore,  with  no  other  coat  below  it. 
His  whiskers  were  large.  I  saw  his  bed  rolled  up  in  a  corner; 
and  what  plates,  and  dishes,  and  pots  he  had,  on  a  shelf;  and 
I  knew  (God  knows  how)  that  the  two  girls  with  the  shock  heads 
were  Captain  Porter's  natural  children,  and  that  the  dirty  lady 
was  not  married  to  Captain  P.  My  timid,  wondering  station 
on  his  threshold,  was  not  occupied  more  than  a  couple  of  min- 
utes, I  dare  say;  but  I  came  down  again  to  the  room  below 
with  all  this  as  surely  in  my  knowledge,  as  the  knife  and  fork  were 
in  my  hand.' 

How  there  was  something  agreeable  and  gipsy-like  in  the  dinner 
after  all,  and  how  he  took  back  the  Captain's  knife  and  fork  early 
in  the  afternoon,  and  how  he  went  home  to  comfort  his  mother 
with  an  account  of  his  visit,  David  Copperfield  has  also  accurately 
told.  Then,  at  home,  came  many  miserable  daily  struggles  that 
seemed  to  last  an  immense  time,  yet  did  not  perhaps  cover  many 
weeks.  Almost  everything  by  degrees  was  sold  or  pawned,  little 
Charles  being  the  principal  agent  in  those  sorrowful  transactions. 
Such  of  the  books  as  had  been  brought  from  Chatham,  Peregrine 
Pickle,  Roderick  Random,  Tom  Jones,  Humphrey  Clinker,  and  all 
the  rest,  went  first.  They  were  carried  off  from  the  little  chiffonier, 
which  his  father  called  the  library,  to  a  bookseller  in  the  Hamp- 
stead-road,  the  same  that  David  Copperfield  describes  as  in  the 
City-road ;  and  the  account  of  the  sales,  as  they  actually  occurred 
and  were  told  to  me  long  before  David  was  born,  was  reproduced 
word  for  word  in  his  imaginary  narrative.  'The  keeper  of  this 
bookstall,  who  lived  in  a  little  house  behind  it,  used  to  get  tipsy 
every  night,  and  to  be  violently  scolded  by  his  wife  every  morn- 
ing. More  than  once,  when  I  went  there  early,  I  had  audience 
of  him  in  a  turn-up  bedstead,  with  a  cut  in  his  forehead  or  a 
black  eye,  bearing  witness  to  his  excesses  over  night  (I  am  afraid 
he  was  quarrelsome  in  his  drink) ;  and  he,  with  a  shaking  hand, 


HARD   EXPERIENCES   IN   BOYHOOD  99 

endeavouring  to  find  the  needful  shillings  in  one  or  other  of  the 
pockets  of  his  clothes,  which  lay  upon  the  floor,  while  his  wife, 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms  and  her  shoes  down  at  heel,  never  left 
off  rating  him.  Sometimes  he  had  lost  his  money,  and  then 
he  would  ask  me  to  call  again ;  but  his  wife  had  always  got  some 
(had  taken  his,  I  dare  say,  while  he  was  drunk),  and  secretly 
completed  the  bargain  on  the  stairs,  as  we  went  down  together. ' 

The  same  pawnbroker's  shop,  too,  which  was  so  well  known  to 
David,  became  not  less  familiar  to  Charles;  and  a  good  deal  of 
notice  was  here  taken  of  him  by  the  pawnbroker,  or  by  his  prin- 
cipal clerk  who  officiated  behind  the  counter,  and  who,  while 
making  out  the  duplicate,  liked  of  all  things  to  hear  the  lad  con- 
jugate a  Latin  verb,  and  translate  or  decline  his  musa  and  dominus. 
Everything  to  this  accompaniment  went  gradually;  until  at  last, 
even  of  the  furniture  of  Gower-street  number  four,  there  was 
nothing  left  except  a  few  chairs,  a  kitchen  table,  and  some  beds. 
Then  they  encamped,  as  it  were,  in  the  two  parlours  of  the  emptied 
house,  and  lived  there  night  and  day. 

All  which  is  but  the  prelude  to  what  remains  to  be  described.  .  .  . 

[In  1847,]  I  learnt  in  all  their  detail  the  incidents  that 
had  been  so  painful  to  him,  and  what  then  was  said  to  me  or 
written  respecting  them  revealed  the  story  of  his  boyhood.  The 
idea  of  David  Copperfield,  which  was  to  take  all  the  world  into  his 
confidence,  had  not  at  this  time  occurred  to  him ;  but  what  it  had 
so  startled  me  to  know,  his  readers  were  afterwards  told  with  only 
such  change  or  addition  as  for  the  time  might  sufficiently  disguise 
himself  under  cover  of  his  hero.  For,  the  poor  little  lad,  with 
good  ability  and  a  most  sensitive  nature,  turned  at  the  age  of  ten 
into  a  '  labouring  hind  '  in  the  service  of  '  Murdstone  and  Grinby,' 
and  conscious  already  of  what  made  it  seem  very  strange  to  him 
that  he  could  so  easily  have  been  thrown  away  at  such  an  age,  was 
indeed  himself.  His  was  the  secret  agony  of  soul  at  finding  him- 
self '  companion  to  Mick  Walker  and  Mealy  Potatoes, '  and  his  the 
tears  that  mingled  with  the  water  in  which  he  and  they  rinsed  and 
washed  out  bottles.  It  had  all  been  written,  as  fact,  before  he 
thought  of  any  other  use  for  it;  and  it  was  not  until  several 
months  later,  when  the  fancy  of  David  Copperfield,  itself  suggested 
by  what  he  had  so  written  of  his  early  troubles,  began  to  take 


100  CHARLES  DICKENS 

shape  in  his  mind,  that  he  abandoned  his  first  intention  of  writing 
his  own  life.  Those  warehouse  experiences  fell  then  so  aptly  into 
the  subject  he  had  chosen,  that  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
of  immediately  using  them;  and  the  manuscript  recording  them, 
which  was  but  the  first  portion  of  what  he  had  designed  to  write, 
was  embodied  in  the  substance  of  the  eleventh  and  earlier  chapters 
of  his  novel.  What  already  had  been  sent  to  me,  however,  and 
proof-sheets  of  the  novel  interlined  at  the  time,  enable  me  now  to 
separate  the  fact  from  the  fiction;  and  to  supply  to  the  story  of 
the  author's  childhood  those  passages,  omitted  from  the  book, 
which,  apart  from  their  illustration  of  the  growth  of  his  character, 
present  to  us  a  picture  of  tragical  suffering,  and  of  tender  as 
well  as  humorous  fancy,  unsurpassed  in  even  the  wonders  of  his 
published  writings. 

The  person  indirectly  responsible  for  the  scenes  to  be  described 
was  the  young  relative  James  Lamert,  the  cousin  by  his  aunt's 
marriage  of  whom  I  have  made  frequent  mention,  who  got  up  the 
plays  at  Chatham,  and  after  passing  at  Sandhurst  had  been  living 
with  the  family  in  Bayham-street  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  com- 
mission in  the  army.  This  did  not  come  until  long  afterwards, 
when,  in  consideration  of  his  father's  services,  he  received  it,  and 
relinquished  it  then  in  favour  of  a  younger  brother;  but  he  had 
meanwhile,  before  the  family  removed  from  Camden-town,  ceased 
to  live  with  them.  The  husband  of  a  sister  of  his  (of  the  same 
name  as  himself,  being  indeed  his  cousin,  George  Lamert),  a  man 
of  some  property,  had  recently  embarked  in  an  odd  sort  of  com- 
mercial speculation;  and  had  taken  him  into  his  office,  and  his 
house,  to  assist  in  it.  I  give  now  the  fragment  of  the  autobiography 
of  Dickens. 

'This  speculation  was  a  rivalry  of  "Warren's  Blacking,  30, 
Strand,"  —  at  that  time  very  famous.  One  Jonathan  Warren  (the 
famous  one  was  Robert),  living  at  30,  Hungerford-stairs,  or 
market,  Strand  (for  I  forget  which  it  was  called  then),  claimed 
to  have  been  the  original  inventor  or  proprietor  of  the  blacking 
recipe,  and  to  have  been  deposed  and  ill-used  by  his  renowned 
relation.  At  last  he  put  himself  in  the  way  of  selling  his  recipe, 
and  his  name,  and  his  30,  Hungerford-stairs,  Strand  (30,  Strand, 
very  large,  and  the  intermediate  direction  very  small),  for  an 


HARD   EXPERIENCES    IN   BOYHGdb'  IQI 

annuity;  and  he  set  forth  by  his  agents  that  a  little  capital  would 
make  a  great  business  of  it.  The  man  of  some  property  was 
found  in  George  Lamert,  the  cousin  and  brother-in-law  of  James. 
He  bought  this  right  and  title,  and  went  into  the  blacking  busi- 
ness and  the  blacking  premises. 

'  —  In  an  evil  hour  for  me,  as  I  often  bitterly  thought.  Its 
chief  manager,  James  Lamert,  the  relative  who  had  lived  with 
us  in  Bayham-street,  seeing  how  I  was  employed  from  day  to 
day,  and  knowing  what  our  domestic  circumstances  then  were, 
proposed  that  I  should  go  into  the  blacking  warehouse,  to  be  as 
useful  as  I  could,  at  a  salary,  I  think,  of  six  shillings  a  week.  I 
am  not  clear  whether  it  was  six  or  seven.  I  am  inclined  to  be- 
lieve, from  my  uncertainty  on  this  head,  that  it  was  six  at  first, 
and  seven  afterwards.  At  any  rate  the  offer  was  accepted  very 
willingly  by  my  father  and  mother,  and  on  a  Monday  morning  I 
went  down  to  the  blacking  warehouse  to  begin  my  business  life. 

'It  is  wonderful  to  me  how  I  could  have  been  so  easily  cast 
away  at  such  an  age.  It  is  wonderful  to  me,  that,  even  after  my 
descent  into  the  poor  little  drudge  I  had  been  since  we  came  to 
London,  no  one  had  compassion  enough  on  me  —  a  child  of 
singular  abilities,  quick,  eager,  delicate,  and  soon  hurt,  bodily  or 
mentally  —  to  suggest  that  something  might  have  been  spared,  as 
certainly  it  might  have  been,  to  place  me  at  any  common  school. 
Our  friends,  I  take  it,  were  tired  out.  No  one  made  any  sign. 
My  father  and  mother  were  quite  satisfied.  They  could  hardly 
have  been  more  so,  if  I  had  been  twenty  years  of  age,  distinguished 
at  a  grammar-school,  and  going  to  Cambridge. 

'The  blacking  warehouse  was  the  last  house  on  the  left-hand 
side  of  the  way,  at  old  Hungerford-stairs.  It  was  a  crazy,  tumble- 
down old  house,  abutting  of  course  on  the  river,  and  literally 
overrun  with  rats.  Its  wainscotted  rooms,  and  its  rotten  floors 
and  staircase,  and  the  old  grey  rats  swarming  down  in  the  cel- 
lars, and  the  sound  of  their  squeaking  and  scuffling  coming  up 
the  stairs  at  all  times,  and  the  dirt  and  decay  of  the  place, 
rise  up  visibly  before  me,  as  if  I  were  there  again.  The  counting- 
house  was  on  the  first  floor,  looking  over  the  coal-barges  and  the 
river.  There  was  a  recess  in  it,  in  which  I  \vas  to  sit  and  work. 
My  work  was  to  cover  the  pots  of  paste-blacking;  first  with  a 


102  '  CHARLES   DICKENS 

piece  of  oil-paper,  and  then  with  a  piece  of  blue  paper;  to  tie 
them  round  with  a  string;  and  then  to  clip  the  paper  close  and 
neat,  all  round,  until  it  looked  as  smart  as  a  pot  of  ointment 
from  an  apothecary's  shop.  When  a  certain  number  of  grosses 
of  pots  had  attained  this  pitch  of  perfection,  I  was  to  paste  on 
each  a  printed  label;  and  then  go  on  again  with  more  pots. 
Two  or  three  other  boys  were  kept  at  similar  duty  downstairs 
on  similar  wages.  One  of  them  came  up,  in  a  ragged  apron  and 
a  paper  cap,  on  the  first  Monday  morning,  to  show  me  the  trick 
of  using  the  string  and  tying  the  knot.  His  name  was  Bob  Fagin ; 
and  I  took  the  liberty  of  using  his  name,  long  afterwards,  in 
Oliver  Twist. 

'Our  relative  had  kindly  arranged  to  teach  me  something  in 
the  dinner-hour;  from  twelve  to  one,  I  think  it  was;  every  day. 
But  an  arrangement  so  incompatible  with  counting-house  busi- 
ness soon  died  away,  from  no  fault  of  his  or  mine;  and  for  the 
same  reason,  my  small  work-table,  and  my  grosses  of  pots,  my 
papers,  string,  scizzors,  paste-pot,  and  labels,  by  little  and  little, 
vanished  out  of  the  recess  in  the  counting-house,  and  kept  com- 
pany with  the  other  small  work-tables,  grosses  of  pots,  papers, 
string,  scizzors,  and  paste-pots,  downstairs.  It  was  not  long, 
before  Bob  Fagin  and  I,  and  another  boy  whose  name  was  Paul 
Green,  but  who  was  currently  believed  to  have  been  christened 
Poll  (a  belief  which  I  transferred,  long  afterwards  again,  to  Mr. 
Sweedlepipe,  in  Martin  Chuzzlewit),  worked  generally,  side  by 
side.  Bob  Fagin  was  an  orphan,  and  lived  with  his  brother-in- 
law,  a  waterman.  Poll  Green's  father  had  the  additional  dis- 
tinction of  being  a  fireman,  and  was  employed  at  Drury-lane 
theatre;  where  another  relation  of  Poll's,  I  think  his  little  sister, 
did  imps  in  the  pantomimes. 

'No  words  can  express  the  secret  agony  of  my  soul  as  I  sunk 
into  this  companionship;  compared  these  every  day  associates 
with  those  of  my  happier  childhood;  and  felt  my  early  hopes  of 
growing  up  to  be  a  learned  and  distinguished  man,  crushed  in 
my  breast.  The  deep  remembrance  of  the  sense  I  had  of  being 
utterly  neglected  and  hopeless;  of  the  shame  I  felt  in  my  posi- 
tion; of  the  misery  it  was  to  my  young  heart  to  believe  that, 
day  by  day,  what  I  had  learned,  and  thought,  and  delighted 


HARD   EXPERIENCES  IN  BOYHOOD  103 

in,  and  raised  my  fancy  and  my  emulation  up  by,  was  passing 
away  from  me,  never  to  be  brought  back  any  more;  cannot  be 
written.  My  whole  nature  was  so  penetrated  with  the  grief  and 
humiliation  of  such  considerations,  that  even  now,  famous  and 
caressed  and  happy,  I  often  forget  in  my  dreams  that  I  have  a 
dear  wife  and  children;  even  that  I  am  a  man;  and  wander 
desolately  back  to  that  time  of  my  life. 

'My  mother  and  my  brothers  and  sisters  (excepting  Fanny  in 
the  royal  academy  of  music)  were  still  encamped,  with  a  young 
servant-girl  from  Chatham-workhouse,  in  the  two  parlours  in  the 
emptied  house  in  Gower-street  north.  It  was  a  long  way  to  go 
and  return  within  the  dinner-hour,  and,  usually,  I  either  carried 
my  dinner  with  me,  or  went  and  bought  it  at  some  neighbouring 
shop.  In  the  latter  case,  it  was  commonly  a  saveloy  and  a  penny 
loaf;  sometimes,  a  fourpenny  plate  of  beef  from  a  cook's  shop; 
sometimes,  a  plate  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  glass  of  beer,  from 
a  miserable  old  public-house  over  the  way:  the  Swan,  if  I 
remember  right,  or  the  Swan  and  something  else  that  I  have 
forgotten.  Once,  I  remember  tucking  my  own  bread  (which  I 
had  brought  from  home  in  the  morning)  under  my  arm,  wrapped 
up  in  a  piece  of  paper  like  a  book,  and  going  into  the  best  din- 
ing-room in  Johnson's  alamode  beef-house  in  Clare-court  Drury- 
lane,  and  magnificently  ordering  a  small  plate  of  alamode  beef 
to  eat  with  it.  What  the  waiter  thought  of  such  a  strange  little 
apparition,  coming  in  all  alone,  I  don't  know;  but  I  can  see 
him  now,  staring  at  me  as  I  ate  my  dinner,  and  bringing  up 
the  other  waiter  to  look.  I  gave  him  a  halfpenny,  and  I  wish, 
now,  that  he  hadn't  taken  it.' 

I  lose  here  for  a  little  while  the  fragment  of  direct  narrative, 
but  I  perfectly  recollect  that  he  used  to  describe  Saturday  night 
as  his  great  treat.  It  was  a  grand  thing  to  walk  home  with  six 
shillings  in  his  pocket,  and  to  look  in  at  the  shop  windows,  and 
think  what  it  would  buy.  Hunt's  roasted  corn,  as  a  British  and 
patriotic  substitute  for  coffee,  was  in  great  vogue  just  then;  and 
the  little  fellow  used  to  buy  it,  and  roast  it  on  the  Sunday.  There 
was  a  cheap  periodical  of  selected  pieces  called  the  Portfolio, 
which  he  had  also  a  great  fancy  for  taking  home  with  him.  The 
new  proposed  'deed,'  meanwhile,  had  failed  to  propitiate  his 


104  CHARLES  DICKENS 

father's  creditors;  .all  hope  of  arrangement  passed  away;  and  the 
end  was  that  his  mother  and  her  encampment  in  Gower-street 
north  broke  up  and  went  to  live  in  the  Marshalsea.  I  am  able 
at  this  point  to  resume  his  own  account. 

'The  key  of  the  house  was  sent  back  to  the  landlord,  who  was 
very  glad  to  get  it;  and  I  (small  Cain  that  I  was,  except  that  I 
had  never  done  harm  to  any  one)  was  handed  over  as  a  lodger 
to  a  reduced  old  lady,  long  known  to  our  family,  in  Little- 
college-street,  Camden-town,  who  took  children  in  to  board,  and 
had  once  done  so  at  Brighton;  and  who,  with  a  few  alterations 
and  embellishments,  unconsciously  began  to  sit  for  Mrs.  Pipchin 
in  Dombey  when  she  took  in  me. 

'  She  had  a  little  brother  and  sister  under  her  care  then ;  some- 
body's natural  children,  who  were  very  irregularly  paid  for;  and 
a  widow's  little  son.  The  two  boys  and  I  slept  in  the  same 
room.  My  own  exclusive  breakfast,  of  a  penny  cottage  loaf  and 
a  pennyworth  of  milk,  I  provided  for  myself.  I  kept  another 
small  loaf,  and  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  cheese,  on  a  particular 
shelf  of  a  particular  cupboard;  to  make  my  supper  on  when  I 
came  back  at  night.  They  made  a  hole  in  the  six  or  seven  shil- 
lings, I  know  well;  and  I  was  out  at  the  blacking  warehouse 
all  day,  and  had  to  support  myself  upon  that  money  all  the 
week.  I  suppose  my  lodging  was  paid  for,  by  my  father.  I 
certainly  did  not  pay  it  myself;  and  I  certainly  had  no  other 
assistance  whatever  (the  making  of  my  clothes,  I  think,  ex- 
cepted),  from  Monday  morning  until  Saturday  night.  No  advice, 
no  counsel,  no  encouragement,  no  consolation,  no  support,  from 
any  one  that  I  can  call  to  mind,  so  help  me  God. 

'Sundays,  Fanny  and  I  passed  in  the  prison.  I  was  at  the 
academy  in  Tenterden-street,  Hanover-square,  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  to  fetch  her ;  and  we  walked  back  there  together,  at 
night. 

'  I  was  so  young  and  childish,  and  so  little  qualified  —  how 
could  I  be  otherwise  ?  —  to  undertake  the  whole  charge  of  my 
own  existence,  that,  in  going  to  Hungerford-stairs  of  a  morning, 
I  could  not  resist  the  stale  pastry  put  out  at  half-price  on  trays 
at  the  confectioners'  doors  in  Tottenham-court-road ;  and  I  often 
spent  in  that,  the  money  I  should  have  kept  for  my  dinner. 


HARD   EXPERIENCES  IN  BOYHOOD  105 

Then  I  went  without  my  dinner,  or  bought  a  roll,  or  a  slice  of 
pudding.  There  were  two  pudding  shops  between  which  I  was 
divided,  according  to  my  finances.  One  was  in  a  court  close  to 
St.  Martin's-church  (at  the  back  of  the  church)  which  is  now 
removed  altogether.  The  pudding  at  that  shop  was  made  with 
currants,  and  was  rather  a  special  pudding,  but  was  dear:  two 
penn'orth  not  being  larger  than  a  penn'orth  of  more  ordinary 
pudding.  A  good  shop  for  the  latter  was  in  the  Strand,  some- 
where near  where  the  Lowther-arcade  is  now.  It  was  a  stout, 
hale  pudding,  heavy  and  flabby;  with  great  raisins  in  it,  stuck 
in  whole,  at  great  distances  apart.  It  came  up  hot,  at  about 
noon  every  day;  and  many  and  many  a  day  did  I  dine 
off  it. 

'We  had  half-an-hour,  I  think,  for  tea.  When  I  had  money 
enough,  I  used  to  go  to  a  coffee-shop,  and  have  a  half-a-pint  of 
coffee,  and  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter.  When  I  had  no  money, 
I  took  a  turn  in  Covent-garden  market,  and  stared  at  the  pine- 
apples. The  coffee-shops  to  which  I  most  resorted  were,  one  in 
Maiden-lane;  one  in  a  court  (non-existent  now)  close  to  Hun- 
gerford-market ;  and  one  in  St.  Martin's-lane,  of  which  I  only 
recollect  that  it  stood  near  the  church,  and  that  in  the  door 
there  was  an  oval  glass-plate,  with  COFFEE-ROOM  painted  on  it, 
addressed  towards  the  street.  If  I  ever  find  myself  in  a  very 
different  kind  of  coffee-room  now,  but  where  there  is  such  an 
inscription  on  glass,  and  read  it  backward  on  the  wrong  side 
MOOR-EEFFOC  (as  I  often  used  to  do  then,  in  a  dismal  reverie), 
a  shock  goes  through  my  blood. 

'I  know  I  do  not  exaggerate,  unconsciously  and  unintention- 
ally, the  scantiness  of  my  resources  and  the  difficulties  of  my 
life.  I  know  that  if  a  shilling  or  so  were  given  me  by  any  one, 
I  spent  it  in  a  dinner  or  a  tea.  I  know  that  I  worked,  from 
morning  to  night,  with  common  men  and  boys,  a  shabby  child. 
I  know  that  I  tried,  but  ineffectually,  not  to  anticipate  my  money, 
and  to  make  it  last  the  week  through;  by  putting  it  away  in  a 
drawer  I  had  in  the  counting-house,  wrapped  into  six  little  parcels, 
each  parcel  containing  the  same  amount,  and  labelled  with  a 
different  day.  I  know  that  I  have  lounged  about  the  streets, 
insufficiently  and  unsatisfactorily  fed.  I  know  that,  but  for  the 


106  CHARLES  DICKENS 

mercy  of  God,  I  might  easily  have  been,  for  any  care  that  was 
taken  of  me,  a  little  robber  or  a  little  vagabond. 

'But  I  held  some  station  at  the  blacking  warehouse  too.  Be- 
sides that  my  relative  at  the  counting-house  did  what  a  man  so 
occupied,  and  dealing  with  a  thing  so  anomalous,  could,  to  treat 
me  as  one  upon  a  different  footing  from  the  rest,  I  never  said, 
to  man  or  boy,  how  it  was  that  I  came  to  be  there,  or  gave  the 
least  indication  of  being  sorry  that  I  was  there.  That  I  suffered 
in  secret,  and  that  I  suffered  exquisitely,  no  one  ever  knew  but 
I.  How  much  I  suffered,  it  is,  as  I  have  said  already,  utterly 
beyond  my  power  to  tell.  No  man's  imagination  can  overstep 
the  reality.  But  I  kept  my  own  counsel,  and  I  did  my  work. 
I  knew  from  the  first,  that  if  I  could  not  do  my  work  as  well  as 
any  of  the  rest,  I  could  not  hold  myself  above  slight  and  contempt. 
I  soon  became  at  least  as  expeditious  and  as  skilful  with  my  hands, 
as  either  of  the  other  boys.  Though  perfectly  familiar  with  them, 
my  conduct  and  manners  were  different  enough  from  theirs  to 
place  a  space  between  us.  They,  and  the  men,  always  spoke  of 
me  as  "the  young  gentleman."  A  certain  man  (a  soldier  once) 
named  Thomas,  who  was  the  foreman,  and  another  named  Harry, 
who  was  the  carman  and  wore  a  red  jacket,  used  to  call  me 
"  Charles  "  sometimes,  in  speaking  to  me;  but  I  think  it  was  mostly 
when  we  were  very  confidential,  and  when  I  had  made  some  efforts 
to  entertain  them  over  our  work  with  the  results  of  some  of  the  old 
readings,  which  were  fast  perishing  out  of  my  mind.  Poll  Green 
uprose  once,  and  rebelled  against  the  "young  gentleman"  usage; 
but  Bob  Fagin  settled  him  speedily. 

'My  rescue  from  this  kind  of  existence  I  considered  quite 
hopeless,  and  abandoned  as  such,  altogether;  though  I  am 
solemnly  convinced  that  I  never,  for  one  hour,  was  reconciled 
to  it,  or  was  otherwise  than  miserably  unhappy.  I  felt  keenly, 
however,  the  being  so  cut  off  from  my  parents,  my  brothers,  and 
sisters;  and,  when  my  day's  work  was  done,  going  home  to  such 
a  miserable  blank;  and  that,  I  thought,  might  be  corrected. 
One  Sunday  night  I  remonstrated  with  my  father  on  this  head, 
so  pathetically  and  with  so  many  tears,  that  his  kind  nature  gave 
way.  He  began  to  think  that  it  is  was  not  quite  right.  I  do  be- 
lieve he  had  never  thought  so  before,  or  thought  about  it.  It 


HARD   EXPERIENCES  IN  BOYHOOD  107 

was  the  first  remonstrance  I  had  ever  made  about  my  lot,  and 
perhaps  it  opened  up  a  little  more  than  I  intended.  A  back- 
attic  was  found  for  me  at  the  house  of  an  insolvent-court  agent, 
who  lived  in  Lant-street  in  the  borough,  where  Bob  Sawyer 
lodged  many  years  afterwards.  A  bed  and  bedding  were  sent 
over  for  me,  and  made  up  on  the  floor.  The  little  window  had 
a  pleasant  prospect  of  a  timber-yard;  and  when  I  took  posses- 
sion of  my  new  abode,  I  thought  it  was  a  Paradise.' 

There  is  here  another  blank,  which  it  is  however  not  difficult 
to  supply  from  letters  and  recollections  of  my  own.  What  was  to 
him  of  course  the  great  pleasure  of  his  paradise  of  a  lodging,  was 
its  bringing  him  again,  though  after  a  fashion  sorry  enough,  within 
the  circle  of  home.  From  this  time  he  used  to~  breakfast  'at 
home,'  in  other  words  in  the  Marshalsea;  going  to  it  as  early  as 
the  gates  were  open,  and  for  the  most  part  much  earlier.  They 
had  no  want  of  bodily  comforts  there.  His  father's  income,  still 
going  on,  was  amply  sufficient  for  that;  and  in  every  respect 
indeed  but  elbow-room,  I  have  heard  him  say,  the  family  lived 
more  comfortably  in  prison  than  they  had  done  for  a  long  time 
out  of  it.  They  were  waited  on  still  by  the  maid-of -all-work  from 
Bayham-street,  the  orphan  girl  of  the  Chatham  workhouse,  from 
whose  sharp  little  worldly  and  also  kindly  ways  he  took  his  first 
impression  of  the  Marchioness  in  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop.  She 
too  had  a  lodging  in  the  neighbourhood  that  she  might  be  early 
on  the  scene  of  her  duties;  and  when  Charles  met  her,  as  he 
would  do  occasionally,  in  his  lounging-place  by  London-bridge, 
he  would  occupy  the  time  before  the  gates  opened  by  telling  her 
quite  astonishing  fictions  about  the  wharves  and  the  tower.  '  But 
I  hope  I  believed  them  myself,'  he  would  say.  Besides  break- 
fast, he  had  supper  also  in  the  prison;  and  got  to  his  lodging 
generally  at  nine  o'clock.  The  gates  closed  always  at  ten. 

I  must  not  omit  what  he  told  me  of  the  landlord  of  this  little 
lodging.  He  was  a  fat,  good-natured,  kind  old  gentleman.  He 
was  lame,  and  had  a  quiet  old  wife;  and  he  had  a  very  innocent 
grown-up  son,  who  was  lame  too.  They  were  all  very  kind  to 
the  boy.  He  was  taken  with  one  of  his  old  attacks  of  spasm  one 
night,  and  the  whole  three  of  them  were  about  his  bed  until 
morning.  They  were  all  dead  when  he  told  me  this,  but  in 


108  CHARLES  DICKENS 

another  form  they  live  still  very  pleasantly  as  the  Garland  family 
in  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop. 

He  had  a  similar  illness  one  day  in  the  warehouse,  which  I  can 
describe  in  his  own  words.  '  Bob  Fagin  was  very  good  to  me  on 
the  occasion  of  a  bad  attack  of  my  old  disorder.  I  suffered  such 
excruciating  pain  that  time,  that  they  made  a  temporary  bed  of 
straw  in  my  old  recess  in  the  counting-house,  and  I  rolled  about 
on  the  floor,  and  Bob  filled  empty  blacking-bottles  with  hot 
water,  and  applied  .relays  of  them  to  my  side,  half  the  day.  I 
got  better,  and  quite  easy  towards  evening;  but  Bob  (who  was 
much  bigger  and  older  than  I)  did  not  like  the  idea  of  my  going 
home  alone,  and  took  me  under  his  protection.  I  was  too  proud 
to  let  him  know  about  the  prison;  and  after  making  several 
efforts  to  get  rid  of  him,  to  all  of  which  Bob  Fagin  in  his  good- 
ness was  deaf,  shook  hands  with  him  on  the  steps  of  a  house 
near  Southwark-bridge  on  the  Surrey  side,  making  believe  that 
I  lived  there.  As  a  finishing  piece  of  reality  in  case  of  his  looking 
back,  I  knocked  at  the  door,  I  recollect,  and  asked,  when  the 
woman  opened  it,  if  that  was  Mr.  Robert  Fagin's  house.' 

The  Saturday  nights  continued,  as  before,  to  be  precious  to 
him.  'My  usual  way  home  was  over  Blackfriars-bridge,  and 
down  that  turning  in  the  Blackfrairs-road  which  has  Rowland 
Hill's  chapel  on  one  side,  and  the  likeness  of  a  golden  dog  licking 
a  golden  pot  over  a  shop  door  on  the  other.  There  are  a  good 
many  little  low-browed  old  shops  in  that  street,  of  a  wretched  kind ; 
and  some  are  unchanged  now.  I  looked  into  one  a  few  weeks 
ago,  where  I  used  to  buy  boot-laces  on  Saturday  nights,  and  saw 
the  corner  where  I  once  sat  down  on  a  stool  to  have  a  pair  of  ready- 
made  half-boots  fitted  on.  I  have  been  seduced  more  than  once, 
in  that  street  on  a  Saturday  night,  by  a  show-van  at  a  corner;  and 
have  gone  in,  with  a  very  motley  assemblage,  to  see  the  Fat-pig, 
the  Wild-indian,  and  the  Little-lady.  There  were  two  or  three  hat- 
manufactories  there,  then  (I  think  they  are  there  still) ;  and  among 
the  things  which,  encountered  anywhere,  or  under  any  circum- 
stances, will  instantly  recall  that  time,  is  the  smell  of  hat-making.' 

His  father's  attempts  to  avoid  going  through  the  court  having 
failed,  all  needful  ceremonies  had  to  be  undertaken  to  obtain  the 
benefit  of  the  insolvent  debtors'  act;  and  in  one  of  these  little 


HARD   EXPERIENCES  IN   BOYHOOD  109 

Charles  had  his  part  to  play.  One  condition  of  the  statute  was 
that  the  wearing  apparel  and  personal  matters  retained  were  not 
to  exceed  twenty  pounds  sterling  in  value.  'It  was  necessary,  as 
a  matter  of  form,  that  the  clothes  I  wore  should  be  seen  by  the 
official  appraiser.  I  had  a  half-holiday  to  enable  me  to  call 
upon  him,  at  his  own  time,  at  a  house  somewhere  beyond  the 
Obelisk.  I  recollect  his  coming  out  to  look  at  me  with  his  mouth 
full,  and  a  strong  smell  of  beer  upon  him,  and  saying  good-na- 
turedly that  "that  would  do,"  and  "  it  was  all  right."  Certainly 
the  hardest  creditor  would  not  have  been  disposed  (even  if  he  had 
been  legally  entitled)  to  avail  himself  of  my  poor  white  hat,  little 
jacket,  or  corduroy  trowsers.  But  I  had  a  fat  old  silver  watch  in  my 
pocket,  which  had  been  given  me  by  my  grandmother  before  the 
blacking  days,  and  I  had  entertained  my  doubts  as  I  went  along 
whether  that  valuable  possession  might  not  bring  me  over  the 
twenty  pounds.  So  I  was  greatly  relieved,  and  made  him  a  bow 
of  acknowledgment  as  I  went  out.' 

Still  the  want  felt  most  by  him  was  the  companionship  of  boys 
of  his  own  age.  He  had  no  such  acquaintance.  Sometimes,  he 
remembered  to  have  played  on  the  coal-barges  at  dinner  time, 
with  Poll  Green  and  Bob  Fagin ;  but  those  were  rare  occasions. 
He  generally  strolled  alone,  about  the  back  streets  of  the  Adelphi ; 
or  explored  the  Adelphi  arches.  One  of  his  favourite  localities 
was  a  little  public-house  by  the  water-side  called  the  Fox-under- 
the-hill,  approached  by  an  underground  passage  which  we  once 
missed  in  looking  for  it  together ; 1  and  he  had  a  vision  which  he 
has  mentioned  in  Copperfield  of  sitting  eating  something  on  a 
bench  outside,  one  fine  evening,  and  looking  at  some  coal-heavers 
dancing  before  the  house.  'I  wonder  what  they  thought  of  me,' 
says  David.  He  had  himself  already  said  the  same  in  his  frag- 
ment of  autobiography. 

Another  characteristic  little  incident  he  made  afterwards  one 
of  David's  experiences,  but  I  am  able  to  give  it  here  without  the 
disguises  that  adapt  it  to  the  fiction.  'I  was  such  a  little  fellow, 

1 "  Will  you  permit  me  to  say,"  a  correspondent  writes  (1871),  "  that  the  house, 
shut  up  and  almost  ruinous,  is  still  to  be  found  at  the  bottom  of  a  curious  and 
most  precipitous  court,  the  entrance  of  which  is  just  past  Salisbury  street.  It  was 
once  the  approach,  I  think,  to  the  half-penny  boats.  The  house  is  now  shut  out 
from  the  water-side  by  the  Embankment." 


110  CHARLES  DICKENS 

with  my  poor  white  hat,  little  jacket,  and  corduroy  trowsers,  that 
frequently,  when  I  went  into  the  bar  of  a  strange  public-house 
for  a  glass  of  ale  or  porter  to  wash  down  the  saveloy  and  the 
loaf  I  had  eaten  in  the  street,  they  didn't  like  to  give  it  me.  I 
remember,  one  evening  (I  had  been  somewhere  for  my  father, 
and  was  going  back  to  the  borough  over  Westminster-bridge), 
that  I  went  into  a  public-house  in  Parliament-street,  which  is 
still  there  though  altered,  at  the  corner  of  the  short  street  leading 
into  Cannon-row,  and  said  to  the  landlord  behind  the  bar,  "  What 
is  your  very  best  —  the  VERY  best  —  ale,  a  glass  ? "  For,  the 
occasion  was  a  festive  one,  for  some  reason:  I  forget  why.  It 
may  have  been  my  birthday,  or  somebody  else's.  "  Twopence," 
says  he.  "Then,"  says  I,  "  just  draw  me  a  glass  of  that,  if 
you  please,  with  a  good  head  to  it."  The  landlord  looked  at  me 
in  return,  over  the  bar,  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  strange  smile 
on  his  face;  and  instead  of  drawing  the  beer,  looked  round  the 
screen  and  said  something  to  his  wife,  who  came  out  from  behind  it, 
with  her  work  in  her  hand,  and  joined  him  in  surveying  me. 
Here  we  stand,  all  three,  before  me  now,  in  my  study  in  Devonshire- 
terrace.  The  landlord,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  leaning  against  the 
bar  window-frame;  his  wife,  looking  over  the  little  half-door; 
and  I,  in  some  confusion,  looking  up  at  them  from  outside  the 
partition.  They  asked  me  a  good  many  questions,  as  what  my 
name  was,  how  old  I  was,  where  I  lived,  how  I  was  employed,  etc, 
etc.  To  all  of  which,  that  I  might  commit  nobody,  I  invented 
appropriate  answers.  They  served  me  with  the  ale,  though  I  sus- 
pect it  was  not  the  strongest  on  the  premises ;  and  the  landlord's 
wife,  opening  the  little  half-door  and  bending  down,  gave  me  a  kiss 
that  was  half -admiring  and  half-compassionate,  but  all  womanly 
and  good,  I  am  sure.' 

A  later,  and  not  less  characteristic,  occurrence  of  the  true  story 
of  this  time  found  also  a  place,  three  or  four  years  after  it  was 
written,  in  his  now  famous  fiction.  It  preceded  but  by  a  short 
term  the  discharge,  from  the  Marshalsea,  of  the  elder  Dickens ; 
to  whom  a  rather  considerable  legacy  from  a  relative  had  accrued 
not  long  before  ('some  hundreds'  I  understood),  and  had  been 
paid  into  court  during  his  imprisonment.  The  scene  to  be 
described  arose  on  the  occasion  of  a  petition  drawn  up  by  him 


HARD   EXPERIENCES   IN   BOYHOOD  m 

before  he  left,  praying,  not  for  the  abolition  of  imprisonment  for 
debt  as  David  Copperfield  relates,  but  for  the  less  dignified  but 
more  accessible  boon  of  a  bounty  to  the  prisoners  to  drink  his 
majesty's  health  on  his  majesty's  forthcoming  birthday. 

'I  mention  the  circumstance  because  it  illustrates,  to  me,  my 
early  interest  in  observing  people.  When  I  went  to  the  Marshal- 
sea  of  a  night,  I  was  always  delighted  to  hear  from  my  mother 
what  she  knew  about  the  histories  of  the  different  debtors  in  the 
prison;  and  when  I  heard  of  this  approaching  ceremony,  I  was 
so  anxious  to  see  them  all  come  in,  one  after  another  (though 
I  knew  the  greater  part  of  them  already,  to  speak  to,  and  they 
me),  that  I  got  leave  of  absence  on  purpose,  and  established 
myself  in  a  corner,  near  the  petition.  It  was  stretched  out, 
I  recollect,  on  a  great  ironing-board,  under  the  window,  which 
in  another  part  of  the  room  made  a  bedstead  at  night.  The 
internal  regulations  of  the  place,  for  cleanliness  and  order,  and 
for  the  government  of  a  common  room  in  the  ale-house;  where 
hot  water  and  some  means  of  cooking,  and  a  good  fire,  were 
provided  for  all  who  paid  a  very  small  subscription;  were  ex- 
cellently administered  by  a  governing  committee  of  debtors,  of 
which  my  father  was  chairman  for  the  time  being.  As  many  of 
the  principal  officers  of  this  body  as  could  be  got  into  the  small 
room  without  filling  it  up,  supported  him,  in  front  of  the  petition ; 
and  my  old  friend  Captain  Porter  (who  had  washed  himself,  to 
do  honour  to  so  solemn  an  occasion)  stationed  himself  close  to 
it,  to  read  it  to  all  who  were  unacquainted  with  its  contents. 
The  door  was  then  thrown  open,  and  they  began  to  come  in,  in 
a  long  file;  several  waiting  on  the  landing  outside,  while  one 
entered,  affixed  his  signature,  and  went  out.  To  everybody  in 
succession,  Captain  Porter  said,  "  Would  you  like  to  hear  it 
read?"  If  he  weakly  showed  the  least  disposition  to  hear  it, 
Captain  Porter,  in  a  loud  sonorous  voice,  gave  him  every  word 
of  it.  I  remember  a  certain  luscious  roll  he  gave  to  such  words 
as  "Majesty  —  gracious  Majesty  —  your  gracious  Majesty's  un- 
fortunate subjects  —  your  Majesty's  well-known  munificence  "  — 
as  if  the  words  were  something  real  in  his  mouth,  and  delicious 
to  taste :  my  poor  father  meanwhile  listening  with  a  little  of  an 
author's  vanity,  and  contemplating  (not  severely)  the  spikes  on 


112  CHARLES   DICKENS 

the  opposite  wall.  Whatever  was  comical  in  this  scene,  and 
whatever  was  pathetic,  I  sincerely  believe  I  perceived  in  my 
corner,  whether  I  demonstrated  or  not,  quite  as  well  as  I  should 
perceive  it  now.  I  made  out  my  own  little  character  and  story 
for  every  man  who  put  his  name  to  the  sheet  of  paper.  I  might 
be  able  to  do  that  now,  more  truly:  not  more  earnestly,  or  with 
a  closer  interest.  Their  different  peculiarities  of  dress,  of  face, 
of  gait,  of  manner,  were  written  indelibly  upon  my  memory.  I 
would  rather  have  seen  it  than  the  best  play  ever  played;  and 
I  often  thought  about  it  afterwards,  over  the  pots  of  paste-black- 
ing, often  and  often.  When  I  looked,  with  my  mind's  eye,  into 
the  Fleet-prison  during  Mr.  Pickwick's  incarceration,  I  wonder 
whether  half-a-dozen  men  were  wanting  from  the  Marshalsea 
crowd  that  came  filing  in  again,  to  the  sound  of  Captain  Porter's 
voice ! ' 

When  the  family  left  the  Marshalsea  they  all  went  to  lodge 
with  the  lady  in  Little-college-street,  a  Mrs.  Roylance,  who  has 
obtained  unexpected  immortality  as  Mrs.  Pipchin;  and  they 
afterwards  occupied  a  small  house  in  Somers-town.  But,  before 
this  time,  Charles  was  present  with  some  of  them  in  Tenterden- 
street  to  see  his  sister  Fanny  receive  one  of  the  prizes  given  to  the 
pupils  of  the  royal  academy  of  music.  'I  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  myself  —  beyond  the  reach  of  all  such  honourable 
emulation  and  success.  The  tears  ran  down  my  face.  I  felt 
as  if  my  heart  were  rent.  I  prayed,  when  I  went  to  bed  that 
night,  to  be  lifted  out  of  the  humiliation  and  neglect  in  which 
I  was.  I  never  had  suffered  so  much  before.  There  was  no 
envy  in  this.'  There  was  little  need  that  he  should  say  so. 
Extreme  enjoyment  in  witnessing  the  exercise  of  her  talents,  the 
utmost  pride  in  every  success  obtained  by  them,  he  manifested 
always  to  a  degree  otherwise  quite  unusual  with  him ;  and  on  the 
day  of  her  funeral,  which  we  passed  together,  I  had  most  affecting 
proof  of  his  tender  and  grateful  memory  of  her  in  these  childish 
days.  A  few  more  sentences,  certainly  not  less  touching  than 
any  that  have  gone  before,  will  bring  the  story  of  them  to  its 
close.  They  stand  here  exactly  as  written  by  him. 

'I  am  not  sure  that  it  was  before  this  time,  or  after  it,  that 
the  blacking  warehouse  was  removed  to  Chandos-street,  Covent- 


HARD   EXPERIENCES   IN   BOYHOOD  113 

garden.  It  is  no  matter.  Next  to  the  shop  at  the  corner  of 
Bedford-street  in  Chandos-street,  are  two  rather  old-fashioned 
houses  and  shops  adjoining  one  another.  They  were  one  then, 
or  thrown  into  one,  for  the  blacking  business;  and  had  been  a 
butter  shop.  Opposite  to  them  was,  and  is,  a  public-house, 
where  I  got  my  ale,  under  these  new  circumstances.  The  stones 
in  the  street  may  be  smoothed  by  my  small  feet  going  across  to 
it  at  dinner-time,  and  back  again.  The  establishment  was  larger 
now,  and  we  had  one  or  two  new  boys.  Bob  Fagin  and  I  had- 
attained  to  great  dexterity  in  tying  up  the  pots.  I  forget  how 
many  we  could  do,  in  five  minutes.  We  worked,  for  the  light's 
sake,  near  the  second  window  as  you  come  from  Bedford-street; 
and  we  were  so  brisk  at  it,  that  the  people  used  to  stop  and  look 
in.  Sometimes  there  would  be  quite  a  little  crowd  there.  I  saw 
my  father  coming  in  at  the  door  one  day  when  we  were  very  busy, 
and  I  wondered  how  he  could  bear  it. 

'Now,  I  generally  had  my  dinner  in  the  warehouse.  Some- 
times I  brought  it  from  home,  so  I  was  better  off.  I  see  myself 
coming  across  Russell-square  from  Somers-town,  one  morning,  with 
some  cold  hotch-potch  in  a  small  basin  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief. 
I  had  the  same  wanderings  about  the  streets  as  I  used  to  have, 
and  was  just  as  solitary  and  self-dependent  as  before ;  but  I  had 
not  the  same  difficulty  in  merely  living.  I  never  however  heard 
a  word  of  being  taken  away,  or  of  being  otherwise  than  quite 
provided  for. 

'At  last,  one  day, my  father,  and  the  relative  so  often  mentioned, 
quarrelled;  quarrelled  by  letter,  for  I  took  the  letter  from  my 
father  to  him  which  caused  the  explosion,  but  quarrelled  very 
fiercely.  It  was  about  me.  It  may  have  had  some  backward 
reference,  in  part,  for  anything  I  know,  to  my  employment  at  the 
window.  All  I  am  certain  of  is,  that,  soon  after  I  had  given 
him  the  letter,  my  cousin  (he  was  a  sort  of  cousin,  by  marriage) 
told  me  he  was  very  much  insulted  about  me;  and  that  it  was 
impossible  to  keep  me,  after  that.  I  cried  very  much,  partly 
because  it  was  so  sudden,  and  partly  because  in  his  anger  he  was 
violent  about  my  father,  though  gentle  to  me.  Thomas,  the  old 
soldier,  comforted  me,  and  said  he  was  sure  it  was  for  the  best. 
With  a  relief  so  strange  that  it  was  like  oppression,  I  went  home. 


114  CHARLES   DICKENS 

1  My  mother  set  herself  to  accommodate  the  quarrel,  and  did  so 
next  day.  She  brought  home  a  request  for  me  to  return  next 
morning,  and  a  high  character  of  me,  which  I  am  very  sure  I 
deserved.  My  father  said  I  should  go  back  no  more,  and  should 
go  to  school.  I  do  not  write  resentfully  or  angrily:  for  I  know 
how  all  these  things  have  worked  together  to  make  me  what  I 
am:  but  I  never  afterwards  forgot,  I  never  shall  forget,  I  never 
can  forget,  that  my  mother  was  warm  for  my  being  sent  back. 

'From  that  hour  until  this  at  which  I  write,  no  word  of  that 
part  of  my  childhood  which  I  have  now  gladly  brought  to  a 
close,  has  passed  my  lips  to  any  human  being.  I  have  no  idea 
how  long  it  lasted;  whether  for  a  year,  or  much  more,  or  less. 
From  that  hour,  until  this,  my  father  and  my  mother  have  been 
stricken  dumb  upon  it.  I  have  never  heard  the  least  allusion  to 
it,  however  far  off  and  remote,  from  either  of  them.  I  have  never, 
until  I  now  impart  it  to  this  paper,  in  any  burst  of  confidence 
with  any  one,  my  own  wife  not  excepted,  raised  the  curtain  I 
then  dropped,  thank  God. 

'Until  old  Hungerford-market  was  pulled  down,  until  old 
Hungerford-stairs  were  destroyed,  and  the  very  nature  of  the 
ground  changed,  I  never  had  the  courage  to  go  back  to  the  place 
where  my  servitude  began.  I  never  saw  it.  I  could  not  endure 
to  go  near  it.  For  many  years,  when  I  came  near  to  Robert 
Warren's  in  the  Strand,  I  crossed  over*  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  to  avoid  a  certain  smell  of  the  cement  they  put  upon  the 
blacking-corks,  which  reminded  me  of  what  I  was  once.  It  was 
a  very  long  time  before  I  liked  to  go  up  Chandos-street.  My 
old  way  home  by  the  borough  made  me  cry,  after  my  eldest 
child  could  speak. 

'In  my  walks  at  night  I  have  walked  there  often,  since  then, 
and  by  degrees  I  have  come  to  write  this.  It  does  not  seem  a 
tithe  of  what  I  might  have  written,  or  of  what  I  meant  to  write.' 


THE  CAMPO  SANTO  115 

JOHN  RUSKIN 

THE   CAMPO   SANTO 

[From  "  Praterita,"  Outlines  of  Scenes  and  Thoughts,  Perhaps  Worthy  of 
Memory,  in  My  Past  Life,  Vol.  II.,  Chap.  VI,  1885-1889.  Library  Edition, 
George  Allen,  London,  1903. 

RUSKIN,  JOHN  (1819-1900),  author,  artist,  and  social  reformer;  son  of 
John  James  Ruskin  (1785-1864),  who  entered  partnership  as  wine  mer- 
chant in  London,  1809;  brought  up  on  strict  puritanical  principles;  edu- 
cated by  Dr.  Andrews,  father  of  Coventry  Patmore's  first  wife,  and  under 
the  Rev.  Thomas  Dale  (1797-1870)  at  Camberwell;  studied  at  King's 
College,  London;  learned  drawing  under  Copley  Fielding  and  J.  D.  Hard- 
ing; entered  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  1836;  won  Newdigate  prize,  1839; 
contributed  verse  to  'Friendship's  Offering'  and  other  miscellanies;  travelled 
for  his  health,  1840-1;  B.A.,  1842;  M.A.,  1843;  his  first  published  writings 
were  articles  in  London's  'Magazine  of  Natural  History,'  1834;  made  ac- 
quaintance of  Turner,  1840;  paid  first  visit  to  Venice,  1841;  published, 
1843,  first  volume  of  'Modern  Painters,  by  a  Graduate  of  Oxford'  (his  name 
first  appeared  on  title-page  in  edition  of  1851);  second  volume  published 
1846,  the  authorship  being  by  that  time  an  open  secret;  the  third  and 
fourth  volumes  appeared  1856,  the  fifth,  1860;  married,  1848,  Euphemia 
Chalmers  Gray,  daughter  of  George  Gray,  a  lawyer  of  Perth ;  made  acquaint- 
ance of  Millais,  1851;  delivered  at  Edinburgh,  1853,  lectures  on  'Architec- 
ture and  Painting,'  published,  1854;  his  marriage  annulled  on  his  wife's 
suit,  which  he  did  not  defend,  1855;  published,  1849,  'Seven  Lamps  of 
Architecture,'  which  had  considerable  influence  in  encouraging  the  Gothic 
revival  of  the  time,  and  'Stones  of  Venice,'  3  vols.  1851-3;  warmly  defended 
the  pre-Raphaelites  in  letters  to  'The  Times,'  and  in  pamphlets,  1851 ;  pub- 
lished annually,  1855-9,  'Notes  on  the  Royal  Academy';  arranged  Turner 
drawings  at  National  Gallery;  took  charge  of  drawing  classes  at  Working 
Men's  College,  Great  Ormond  Street,  London,  1854-8;  published  'Ele- 
ments of  Drawing,'  1856,  and  'Elements  of  Perspective,'  1859;  honorary 
student  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  1858;  devoted  himself  to  economic  studies, 
and  published  'Unto  this  Last'  (some  of  the  papers  being  first  contributed 
to  'Cornhill  Magazine'),  1860,  'Munera  Pulveris'  (contributed  in  part  to 
'Eraser's  Magazine'),  1862,  'Gold,'  1863,  'Time  and  Tide,'  1867,  and 
various  letters  and  pamphlets,  1868,  advocating  a  system  of  national  educa- 
tion, the  organisation  of  labour,  and  other  social  measures ;  honorary  LL.D., 
Cambridge,  1867;  between  1855  an<^  1870  he  delivered  in  all  parts  of  the 
country  lectures,  some  of  which  were  published  in  'Sesame  and  Lilies,' 
1865,  'The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive,'  1866,  and  'The  Ethics  of  the  Dust,' 
1866;  removed,  1871,  to  Brantwood,  Coniston  Lake,  where  he  remained 
till  death;  established  'Fors  Clavigera,'  a  monthly  letter  'to  the  workmen 
and  labourers  of  Great  Britain,'  and  founded,  1871,  the  guild  of  St.  George 
on  principles  that  'food  can  only  be  got  out  of  the  ground  and  happiness 
out  of  honesty,'  and  that  'the  highest  wisdom  and  the  highest  treasure  need 
not  be  costly  or  exclusive';  engaged  in  several  industrial  experiments,  in- 
cluding the  revival  of  the  hand-made  linen  industry  in  Langdale,  and  the 


Il6  JOHN  RUSKIN 

establishment  of  a  cloth  industry  at  Laxey,  Isle  of  Man;  inspired  and  was 
first  president  of  'The  Art  for  Schools  Association';  first  Slade  professor 
of  art  at  Oxford,  1870-9;  again  filled  the  post,  1883-4,  and  published  eight 
volumes  of  lectures;  founded  a  drawing  school  at  Oxford  and  endowed  a 
drawing-master;  honorary  fellow  of  Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford,  1871; 
suffered  at  times  from  brain  fever  after  1878;  published  at  intervals  during 
1885-9  'Praeterita,'  an  autobiography  which  was  never  completed;  died 
from  influenza,  20  Jan.  1900,  and  was  buried  at  Coniston.  A  bibliography 
of  his  writings  by  Thomas  J.  Wise  and  James  P.  Smart  was  issued,  1893. 
Many  of  the  illustrations  to  his  works  were  executed  from  his  own  draw- 
ings. He  inherited  from  his  father  a  large  fortune,  all  of  which  was  dis- 
persed, chiefly  in  charitable  and  philanthropic  objects,  before  his  death. 

—  Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N.  B. 

"The  spirit  and  style  of  the  book  are  thoroughly  delightful,  and  truly 
represent  the  finer  characteristics  of  his  nature.  He  has  written  nothing 
better,  it  seems  to  me,  than  some  pages  of  this  book,  whether  of  descrip- 
tion or  reflection.  The  retrospect  is  seen  through  the  mellowing  atmosphere 
of  age,  the  harshness  of  many  an  outline  is  softened  by  distance,  and  the  old 
man  looks  back  upon  his  own  life  with  a  feeling  which  permits  him  to  de- 
lineate it  with  perfect  candor,  with  exquisite  tenderness,  and  a  playful  live- 
liness quickened  by  his  humorous  sense  of  its  dramatic  extravagances 
and  individual  eccentricities."  —  CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON,  Letters  of  John 
Ruskin  to  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  Vol.  II,  p.  221.  Houghton,  MifSin  &  Co., 
Boston.] 

The  summer's  work  of  1844,  so  far  from  advancing  the  de- 
sign of  "Modern  Painters,"  had  thrown  me  off  it  —  first  into 
fine  botany,  then  into  difficult  geology,  and  lastly,  as  that  entry 
about  the  Madonna  shows,  into  a  fit  of  figure  study  which  meant 
much.  It  meant,  especially,  at  last  some  looking  into  ecclesiastical 
history,  — some  notion  of  the  merit  of  fourteenth  century  painting, 
and  the  total  abandonment  of  Rubens  and  Rembrandt  for  the 
Venetian  school.  Which,  the  reader  will  please  observe,  signified 
not  merely  the  advance  in  sense  of  color,  but  in  perception  of  truth 
and  modesty  in  light  and  shade.  And  on  getting  home,  I  felt  that 
in  the  cyclone  of  confused  new  knowledge,  this  was  the  thing  first 
to  be  got  firm. 

Scarcely  any  book  writing  was  done  that  winter,  —  and  there 
are  no  diaries;  but,  for  the  first  time,  I  took  up  Turner's  " Liber 
Studiorum"  instead  of  engravings;  mastered  its  principles,  prac- 
tised its  method,  and  by  spring-time  in  1845  was  a^le  to  study 
from  nature  accurately  in  full  chiaroscuro,  with  a  good  frank 
power  over  the  sepia  tinting. 

I  must  have  read  also,  that  winter,  Rio's  "Poesie  Chretienne," 


THE  CAMPO  SANTO  117 

and  Lord  Lindsay's  introduction  to  his  " Christian  Art."  And 
perceiving  thus,  in  some  degree,  what  a  blind  bat  and  puppy  I  had 
been,  all  through  Italy,  determined  that  at  least  I  must  see  Pisa 
and  Florence  again  before  writing  another  word  of  "  Modern 
Painters." 

How  papa  and  mamma  took  this  new  vagary,  I  have  no  rec- 
ollection; resignedly,  at  least:  perhaps  they  also  had  some 
notion  that  I  might  think  differently,  and  it  was  to  be  hoped  in 
a  more  orthodox  and  becoming  manner,  after  another  sight  of  the 
Tribune.  At  all  events,  they  concluded  to  give  me  my  own  way 
entirely  this  time ;  and  what  time  I  chose.  My  health  caused  them 
no  farther  anxiety ;  they  could  trust  my  word  to  take  care  of  myself 
every  day,  just  the  same  as  if  I  were  coming  home  to  tea:  my 
mother  was  satisfied  of  Couttet's  skill  as  a  physician,  and  care,  if 
needed,  as  a  nurse ;  —  he  was  engaged  for  the  summer  in  those 
capacities,  —  and,  about  the  first  week  in  April,  I  found  myself 
dining  on  a  trout  of  the  Ain,  at  Champagnole ;  with  Switzerland 
and  Italy  at  my  feet  —  for  to-morrow.  .  .  . 

By  Gap  and  Sisteron  to  Frejus,  along  the  Riviera  to  Sestri, 
where  I  gave  a  day  to  draw  the  stone-pipes  now  at  Oxford; 
and  so  straight  to  my  first  fixed  aim,  Lucca,  where  I  settled 
myself  for  ten  days,  —  as  I  supposed.  It  turned  out  forty  years. 

The  town  is  some  thousand  paces  square;  the  unbroken 
rampart  walk  round  may  be  a  short  three  miles.  There  are 
upward  of  twenty  churches  in  that  space,  dating  between  the  sixth 
and  twelfth  centuries;  a  ruined  feudal  palace  and  tower,  un- 
matched except  at  Verona :  the  streets  clean  —  cheerfully  in- 
habited, yet  quiet;  nor  desolate,  even  now.  Two  of  the  churches 
representing  the  perfectest  phase  of  round-arched  building  in 
Europe,  and  one  of  them  containing  the  loveliest  Christian  tomb 
in  Italy. 

The  rampart  walk,  unbroken  except  by  descents  and  ascents 
at  the  gates,  commands  every  way  the  loveliest  ranges  of  all 
the  Tuscan  Apennine:  when  I  was  there  in  1845,  besides  the 
ruined  feudal  palace,  there  was  a  maintained  Ducal  Palace, 
with  a  living  Duke  in  it,  whose  military  band  played  every  evening 
on  the  most  floral  and  peaceful  space  of  rampart.  After  a  well- 
spent  day,  and  a  three-course  dinner,  —  military  band,  —  chains, 


Il8  JOHN  RUSKIN 

double  braided,  of  amethyst  Apennine  linked  by  golden  clouds,  — 
then  the  mountain  air  of  April,  still  soft  as  the  marble  towers,  grew 
unsubstantial  in  the  starlight,  —  such  the  monastic  discipline  of 
Lucca  to  my  novitiate  mind. 

I  must  stop  to  think  a  little  how  it  was  that  so  early  as  this 
I  could  fasten  on  the  tomb  of  Ilaria  di  Caretto  with  certainty 
of  its  being  a  supreme  guide  to  me  ever  after.  If  I  get  tiresome, 
the  reader  must  skip;  I  write,  for  the  moment,  to  amuse  myself, 
and  not  him.  The  said  reader,  duly  sagacious,  must  have  felt, 
long  since,  that,  though  very  respectable  people  in  our  way,  we 
were  all  of  us  definitely  vulgar  people;  just  as  my  aunt's  dog 
Towser  was  a  vulgar  dog,  though  a  very  good  and  dear  dog. 
Said  reader  should  have  seen  also  that  we  had  not  set  ourselves 
up  to  have  "a  taste"  in  anything.  There  was  never  any 
question  about  matching  colors  in  furniture,  or  having  the  correct 
pattern  in  china.  Everything  for  service  in  the  house  was  bought 
plain,  and  of  the  best;  our  toys  were  what  we  happened  to  take  a 
fancy  to  in  pleasant  places  —  a  cow  in  stalactite  from  Matlock, 
fisher-wife  doll  from  Calais,  a  Swiss  farm  from  Berne,  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne  from  Carrara.  But,  among  these  toys,  principal  on  the 
drawing-room  chimney-piece,  always  put  away  by  my  mother 
at  night,  and  "put  out"  in  the  afternoon,  were  some  pieces  of 
Spanish  clay,  to  which,  without  knowing  it,  I  owed  a  quantity 
of  strenuous  teaching.  Native  baked  clay  figures,  painted  and 
gilded  by  untaught  persons  who  had  the  gift ;  manufacture  mainly 
practised  along  the  Xeres  coast,  I  believe,  and  of  late  much  decayed, 
but  then  flourishing,  and  its  work  as  good  as  the  worker  could 
make  it.  There  was  a  Don  Whiskerandos  contrabandista, 
splendidly  handsome  and  good-natured,  on  a  magnificent  horse 
at  the  trot,  brightly  caparisoned :  everything  finely  finished,  his  gun 
loose  in  his  hand.  There  was  a  lemonade  seller,  a  pomegranate 
seller,  a  matador  with  his  bull  —  animate  all,  and  graceful,  the 
coloring  chiefly  ruddy  brown.  Things  of  constant  interest  to  me, 
and  altogether  wholesome ;  vestiges  of  living  sculpture  come  down 
into  the  Herne  Hill  times,  from  the  days  of  Tanagra. 

For  loftier  admiration,  as  before  told,  Chantrey  in  Lichfield, 
Roubilliac  in  Westminster,  were  set  forth  to  me,  and  honestly 
felt;  a  scratched  white  outline  or  two  from  Greek  vases  on  the 


THE  CAMPO  SANTO  119 

black  Derbyshire  marble  did  not  interfere  with  my  first  general 
feeling  about  sculpture,  that  it  should  be  living,  and  emotional; 
that  the  flesh  should  be  like  flesh,  and  the  drapery  like  clothes; 
and  that,  whether  trotting  contrabandista,  dancing  girl,  or  dying 
gladiator,  the  subject  should  have  an  interest  of  its  own,  and  not 
consist  merely  of  figures  with  torches  or  garlands  standing  alter- 
nately on  their  right  and  left  legs.  Of  "  ideal  "  form  and  the  like, 
I  fortunately  heard  and  thought  nothing. 

The  point  of  connoisseurship  I  had  reached,  at  sixteen,  with 
these  advantages  and  instincts,  is  curiously  measured  by  the 
criticism  of  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims  in  my  Don  Juan  journal  of 


The  carving  is  nof  rich,  —  the  Gothic  heavy, 

The  statues  miserable;    not  a  fold 
Of  drapery  well-disposed  in  all  the  bevy 

Of  Saints  and  Bishops  and  Archbishops  old 
That  line  the  porches  gray.     But  in  the  nave  I 

Stared  at  the  windows  purple,  blue,  and  gold: 
And  the  perspective's  wonderfully  fine 

When  you  look  down  the  long  columnar  line. 


By  the  "carving"  I  meant  the  niche  work,  which  is  indeed 
curiously  rude  at  Rheims;  by  the  "Gothic"  the  structure  and 
mouldings  of  arch,  which  I  rightly  call  "heavy"  as  compared 
with  later  French  types ;  while  the  condemnation  of  the  draperies 
meant  that  they  were  not  the  least  like  those  either  of  Rubens  or 
Roubilliac.  And  ten  years  had  to  pass  over  me  before  I  knew 
better ;  but  every  day  between  the  standing  in  Rheims  porch  and 
by  Ilaria's  tomb  had  done  on  me  some  chiselling  to  the  good ;  and 
the  discipline  from  the  Fontainebleau  time  till  now  had  been 
severe.  The  accurate  study  of  tree  branches,  growing  leaves, 
and  foreground  herbage,  had  more  and  more  taught  me  the  differ- 
ence between  violent  and  graceful  lines;  the  beauty  of  Clotilde 
and  Cecile,  essentially  French-Gothic,  and  the  living  Egeria  of 
Araceli,  had  fixed  in  my  mind  and  heart,  not  as  an  art-ideal,  but  as 
a  sacred  reality,  the  purest  standards  of  breathing  womanhood; 
and  here  suddenly,  in  the  sleeping  Ilaria,  was  the  perfectness  of 
these,  expressed  with  harmonies  of  line  which  I  saw  in  an  instant 
were  under  the  same  laws  as  the  river  wave,  and  the  aspen  branch, 


120  JOHN   RUSKIN 

and  the  stars'  rising  and  setting ;  but  treated  with  a  modesty  and 
severity  which  read  the  laws  of  nature  by  the  light  of  virtue. 

Another  influence,  no  less  forcible,  and  more  instantly  effective, 
was  brought  to  bear  on  me  by  my  first  quiet  walk  through  Lucca. 

Hitherto,  all  architecture,  except  fairy-finished  Milan,  had 
depended  with  me  for  its  delight  on  being  partly  in  decay.  I 
revered  the  sentiment  of  its  age,  and  I  was  accustomed  to  look  for 
the  signs  of  age  in  the  mouldering  of  its  traceries,  and  in  the  inter- 
stices deepening  between  the  stones  of  its  masonry.  This  looking 
for  cranny  and  joint  was  mixed  with  the  love  of  rough  stones  them- 
selves, and  of  country  churches  built  like  Westmoreland  cottages. 

Here  in  Lucca  I  found  myself  suddenly  in  the  presence  of 
twelfth  century  buildings,  originally  set  in  such  balance  of  masonry, 
that  they  could  all  stand  without  mortar;  and  in  material  so  incor- 
ruptible, that  after  six  hundred  years  of  sunshine  and  rain,  a  lancet 
could  not  now  be  put  between  their  joints. 

Absolutely  for  the  first  time  I  now  saw  what  mediaeval  builders 
were,  and  what  they  meant.  I  took  the  simplest  of  all  facades  for 
analysis,  that  of  Santa  Maria  Foris-Portam,  and  thereon  literally 
began  the  study  of  architecture. 

In  the  third  —  and,  for  the  reader's  relief,  last  —  place  in  these 
technical  records,  Fra  Bartolomeo's  picture  of  the  "Magdalene, 
with  St.  Catherine  of  Siena,"  gave  me  a  faultless  example  of  the 
treatment  of  pure  Catholic  tradition  by  the  perfect  schools  of 
painting. 

And  I  never  needed  lessoning  more  in  the  principles  of  the 
three  great  arts.  After  those  summer  days  of  1845,  I  advanced 
only  in  knowledge  of  individual  character,  provincial  feeling, 
and  details  of  construction  or  execution.  Of  what  was  primarily 
right  and  ultimately  best,  there  was  never  more  doubt  to  me,  and 
my  art-teaching,  necessarily,  in  its  many  local  or  personal  interests 
partial,  has  been  from  that  time  throughout  consistent,  and  pro- 
gressing every  year  to  more  evident  completion. 

The  full  happiness  of  that  time  to  me  cannot  be  explained  ex- 
cept to  consistently  hard  workers;  and  of  those,  to  the  few  who 
can  keep  their  peace  and  health.  For  the  world  appeared  to  me 
now  exactly  right.  Hills  as  high  as  they  should  be,  rivers  as  wide, 
pictures  as  pretty,  and  masters  and  men  as  wise  —  as  pretty  and 


THE  CAMPO  SANTO  1 21 

wise  could  be.  And  I  expected  to  bring  everybody  to  be  of  my 
opinion,  as  soon  as  I  could  get  out  my  second  volume ;  and  drove 
down  to  Pisa  in  much  hope  and  pride,  though  grave  in  both. 

For  now  I  had  read  enough  of  Gary's  "  Dante,"  and  Sismondi's 
''Italian  Republics,"  and  Lord  Lindsay,  to  feel  what  I  had  to  look 
for  in  the  Campo  Santo.  Yet  at  this  moment  I  pause  to  think  what 
it  was  that  I  found. 

Briefly,  the  entire  doctrine  of  Christianity,  painted  so  that 
a  child  could  understand  it.  And  what  a  child  cannot  under- 
stand of  Christianity,  no  one  need  try  to. 

In  these  days- of  the  religion  of  this  and  that,  —  briefly  let 
us  say,  the  religion  of  Stocks  and  Posts  —  in  order  to  say  a  clear 
word  of  Campo  Santo,  one  must  first  say  a  firm  word  concerning 
Christianity  itself.  I  find  numbers,  even  of  the  most  intelligent 
and  amiable  people,  not  knowing  what  the  word  means;  because 
they  are  always  asking  how  much  is  true,  and  how  much  they  like, 
and  never  ask,  first,  what  was  the  total  meaning  of  it,  whether  they 
like  it  or  not. 

The  total  meaning  was,  and  is,  that  the  God  who  made  earth 
and  its  creatures,  took  at  a  certain  time  upon  the  earth,  the  flesh 
and  form  of  man ;  in  that  flesh  sustained  the  pain  and  died  the 
death  of  the  creature  He  had  made;  rose  again  after  death  into 
glorious  human  life,  and  when  the  date  of  the  human  race  is  ended, 
will  return  in  visible  form,  and  render  to  every  man  according  to 
his  work.  Christianity  is  the  belief  in,  and  love  of,  God  thus 
manifested.  Anything  less  than  this,  the  mere  acceptance  of  the 
sayings  of  Christ,  or  asserting  of  any  less  than  divine  power  in  His 
Being,  may  be,  for  aught  I  know,  enough  for  virtue,  peace,  and 
safety ;  but  they  do  not  make  people  Christians,  or  enable  them  to 
understand  the  heart  of  the  simplest  believer  in  the  old  doctrine. 
One  verse  more  of  George  Herbert  will  put  the  height  of  that 
doctrine  into  less  debatable,  though  figurative,  picture  than  any 
longer  talk  of  mine :  — 

Hast  them  not  heard  that  my  Lord  Jesus  died? 

Then  let  me  tell  thee  a  strange  story. 
The  God  of  Power,  as  he  did  ride 
In  his  majestic  robes  of  glory, 

Resolved  to  light;   and  so,  one  day 
He  did  descend,  undressing  all  the  way. 


122  JOHN  RUSKIN 

The  stars  his  tire  of  light,  and  rings,  obtained, 

The  cloud  his  bow,  the  fire  his  spear, 
The  heavens  his  azure  mantle  gained, 

And  when  they  asked  what  he  would  wear, 
He  smiled,  and  said  as  he  did  go, 
"He  had  new  clothes  a-making,  here,  below." 

I  write  from  memory;  the  lines  have  been  my  lesson,  ever  since 
1845,  °f  tne  noblesse  of  thought  which  makes  the  simplest  word 
best. 

And  the  Campo  Santo  of  Pisa  is  absolutely  the  same  in  painting 
as  these  lines  in  word.  Straight  to  its  purpose,  in  the  clearest  and 
most  eager  way;  the  purpose,  highest  that  can  be ;  the  expression, 
the  best  possible  to  the  workman  according  to  his  knowledge.  The 
several  parts  of  the  gospel  of  the  Campo  Santo  are  written  by 
different  persons ;  but  all  the  original  frescoes  are  by  men  of  honest 
genius.  No  matter  for  their  names;  the  contents  of  this  wall- 
scripture  are  these. 

First,  the  Triumph  of  Death,  as  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Horace 
thought  of  death.  Having  been  within  sight  of  it  myself,  since 
Oxford  days ;  and  looking  back  already  over  a  little  Campo  Santo 
of  my  own  people,  I  was  ready  for  that  part  of  the  lesson. 

Secondly,  the  story  of  the  Patriarchs,  and  of  their  guidance 
by  the  ministries  of  visible  angels;  that  is  to  say,  the  ideal  of 
the  life  of  man  in  its  blessedness,  before  the  coming  of  Christ. 

Thirdly,  the  story  of  Job,  in  direct  converse  with  God  him- 
self, the  God  of  nature,  and  without  any  reference  to  the  work  of 
Christ  except  in  its  final  surety,  "Yet  in  my  flesh  I  shall  see 
God." 

Fourthly,  the  life  of  St.  Ranier  of  Pisa,  and  of  the  desert  saints, 
showing  the  ideal  of  human  life  in  its  blessedness  after  the  coming 
of  Christ. 

Lastly,  the  return  of  Christ  in  glory,  and  the  Last  Judgment. 

Now  this  code  of  teaching  is  absolutely  general  for  the  whole 
Christian  world.  There  is  no  papal  doctrine,  nor  antipapal; 
nor  any  question  of  sect  or  schism  whatsoever.  Kings,  bishops, 
knights,  hermits,  are  there,  because  the  painters  saw  them,  and 
painted  them,  naturally,  as  we  paint  the  nineteenth  century  prod- 
uct of  common  councilmen  and  engineers.  But  they  did  not 
conceive  that  a  man  must  be  entirely  happy  in  this  world  and  the 


THE  CAMPO  SANTO  123 

next  because  he  wore  a  mitre  or  helmet,  as  we  do  because  he  has 
made  a  fortune  or  a  tunnel. 

Not  only  was  I  prepared  at  this  time  for  the  teaching  of 
the  Campo  Santo,  but  it  was  precisely  what  at  that  time  I 
needed. 

It  realized  for  me  the  patriarchal  life,  showed  me  what  the 
earlier  Bible  meant  to  say;  and  put  into  direct  and  inevitable 
light  the  questions  I  had  to  deal  with,  alike  in  my  thoughts  and 
ways,  under  existing  Christian  tradition. 

Questions  clearly  not  to  be  all  settled  in  that  fortnight.  Some, 
respecting  the  Last  Judgment,  such  as  would  have  occurred  to 
Professor  Huxley,  —  as  for  instance,  that  if  Christ  came  to  judg- 
ment in  St.  James's  Street,  the  people  couldn't  see  him  from  Pic- 
cadilly, — had  been  dealt  with  by  me  before  now;  but  there  is  one 
fact,  and  no  question  at  all,  concerning  the  Judgment,  which  was 
only  at  this  time  beginning  to  dawn  on  me,  that  men  had  been  curi- 
ously judging  themselves  by  always  calling  the  day  they  expected, 
"Dies  Irae,"  instead  of  "Dies  Amoris." 

Meantime,  my  own  first  business  was  evidently  to  read  what 
these  Pisans  had  said  of  it,  and  take  some  record  of  the  sayings; 
for  at  that  time  the  old-fashioned  ravages  were  going  on,  honestly 
and  innocently.  Nobody  cared  for  the  old  plaster,  and  nobody 
pretended  to.  When  any  dignitary  of  Pisa  was  to  be  buried,  they 
peeled  off  some  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  or  whatever  else  was  in  the  way, 
and  put  up  a  nice  new  tablet  to  the  new  defunct;  but  what  was 
left  was  still  all  Benozzo,  (or  repainting  of  old  time,  not  last  year's 
restoration).  I  cajoled  the  Abbe  Rosini  into  letting  me  put  up  a 
scaffold  level  with  the  frescoes;  set  steadily  to  work  with  what 
faculty  in  outline  I  had;  and  being  by  this  time  practised  in 
delicate  curves,  by  having  drawn  trees  and  grass  rightly,  got  far 
better  results  than  I  had  hoped,  and  had  an  extremely  happy  fort- 
night of  it !  For  as  the  Triumph  of  Death  was  no  new  thought 
to  me,  the  life  of  hermits  was  no  temptation;  but  the  stories  of 
Abraham,  Job,  and  St.  Ranier,  well  told,  were  like  three  new  — 
Scott's  novels,  I  was  going  to  say,  and  will  say,  for  I  don't  see  my 
way  to  anything  nearer  the  fact,  and  the  work  on  them  was  pure 
delight.  I  got  an  outline  of  Abraham's  parting  with  the  last  of  the 
three  angels ;  of  the  sacrifice  of  Job ;  of  the  three  beggars,  and  a 


124  JOHN  RUSKIN 

fiend  or  two,  out  of  the  Triumph  of  Death ;  and  of  the  conversion 
of  St.  Ranier,  for  which  I  greatly  pitied  him. 

For  he  is  playing,  evidently  with  happiest  skill,  on  a  kind 
of  zithern-harp,  held  upright  as  he  stands,  to  the  dance  of  four 
sweet  Pisan  maids,  in  a  round,  holding  each  other  only  by  the  bent 
little  fingers  of  each  hand.  And  one  with  graver  face,  and  wearing 
a  purple  robe,  approaches  him,  saying  —  I  knew  once  what  she 
said,  but  forget  now;  only  it  meant  that  his  joyful  life  in  that  kind 
was  to  be  ended.  And  he  obeys  her,  and  follows,  into  a  nobler 
life. 

I  do  not  know  if  ever  there  was  a  real  St.  Ranier;  but  the 
story  of  him  remained  for  truth  in  the  heart  of  Pisa  as  long  as 
Pisa  herself  lived. 

I  got  more  than  outline  of  this  scene:  a  colored  sketch  of  the 
whole  group,  which  I  destroyed  afterward,  in  shame  of  its  faults, 
all  but  the  purple-robed  warning  figure ;  and  that  is  lost,  and  the 
fresco  itself  now  lost  also,  all  mouldering  and  ruined  by  what 
must  indeed  be  a  cyclical  change  in  the  Italian  climate :  the  frescoes 
exposed  to  it  of  which  I  made  note  before  1850,  seem  to  me  to  have 
suffered  more  in  the  twenty  years  since,  than  they  had  since  they 
were  painted:  those  at  Verona  alone  excepted,  where  the  art  of 
fresco  seems  to  have  been  practised  in  the  fifteenth  century  in 
absolute  perfection,  and  the  color  to  have  been  injured  only  by 
violence,  not  by  time. 

There  was  another  lovely  cloister  in  Pisa,  without  fresco, 
but  exquisite  in  its  arched  perspective  and  central  garden,  and 
noble  in  its  unbuttressed  height  of  belfry  tower ;  —  the  cloister 
of  San  Francesco :  in  these,  and  in  the  meadow  round  the  baptistery, 
the  routine  of  my  Italian  university  life  was  now  fixed  for  a  good 
many  years  in  main  material  points. 

In  summer  I  have  always  been  at  work,  or  out  walking,  by 
six  o'clock,  usually  awake  by  half-past  four;  but  I  keep  to  Pisa 
for  the  present,  where  my  monkish  discipline  arranged  itself  thus. 
Out,  any  how,  by  six,  quick  walk  to  the  field,  and  as  much  done  as 
I  could,  and  back  to  breakfast  at  half -past  eight.  Study  bit  of 
Sismondi  over  bread  and  butter,"  then  back  to  Campo  Santo, 
draw  till  twelve;  quick  walk  to  look  about  me  and  stretch  my 
legs,  in  shade  if  it  might  be,  before  lunch,  on  anything  I  chanced 


THE  CAMPO  SANTO  125 

to  see  nice  in  a  fruit  shop,  and  a  bit  of  bread.  Back  to  lighter 
work,  or  merely  looking  and  thinking,  for  another  hour  and  a  half, 
and  to  hotel  for  dinner  at  four.  Three  courses  and  a  flask  of 
Aleatico  (a  sweet,  yet  rather  astringent,  red,  rich  for  Italian,  wine 
—  provincial,  and  with  lovely  basketwork  round  the  bottle). 
Then  out  for  saunter  with  Couttet;  he  having  leave  to  say  any- 
thing he  had  a  mind  to,  but  not  generally  communicative  of  his 
feelings;  he  carried  my  sketch-book,  but  in  the  evening  there  was 
too  much  always  to  be  hunted  out,  of  city;  or  watched,  of  hills,  or 
sunset ;  and  I  rarely  drew,  —  to  my  sorrow,  now.  I  wish  I  knew 
less,  and  had  drawn  more. 

Homewards,  from  wherever  we  had  got  to,  the  moment  the 
sun  was  down,  and  the  last  clouds  had  lost  their  color.  I  avoided 
marshy  places,  if  I  could,  at  all  times  of  the  day,  because  I  didn't 
like  them;  but  I  feared  neither  sun  nor  moon,  dawn  nor  twilight, 
malaria,  nor  anything  else  malefic,  in  the  course  of  work,  except  only 
draughts  and  ugly  people.  I  never  would  sit  in  a  draught  for  half 
a  minute,  and  fled  from  some  sorts  of  beggars;  but  a  crowd  of  the 
common  people  round  me  only  made  me  proud,  and  try  to  draw  as 
well  as  I  could ;  mere  rags  or  dirt  I  did  not  care  an  atom  for. 

As  early  as  1835,  and  as  late  as  1841,  I  had  been  accustomed, 
both  in  France  and  Italy,  to  feel  that  the  crowd  behind  me  was 
interested  in  my  choice  of  subjects,  and  pleasantly  applausive 
of  the  swift  progress  under  my  hand  of  street  perspectives,  and 
richness  of  surface  decoration,  such  as  might  be  symbolized  by  dex- 
trous zigzags,  emphatic  dots,  or  graceful  flourishes.  I  had  the 
better  pleasure,  now,  of  feeling  that  my  really  watchful  delineation, 
while  still  rapid  enough  to  interest  any  stray  student  of  drawing  who 
might  stop  by  me  on  his  way  to  the  Academy,  had  a  quite  unusual 
power  of  directing  the  attention  of  the  general  crowd  to  points  of 
beauty,  or  subjects  of  sculpture,  in  the  buildings  I  was  at  work  on,  to 
which  they  had  never  before  lifted  eyes,  and  which  I  had  the  double 
pride  of  first  discovering  for  them,  and  then  imitating  —  not  to  their 
dissatisfaction. 

And  well  might  I  be  proud;  but  how  much  more  ought  I  to 
have  been  pitiful,  in  feeling  the  swift  and  perfect  sympathy  which 
the  "  common  people" —  companion-people  I  should  have  said,  for 
in  Italy  there  is  no  commonness  —  gave  me,  in  Lucca,  or  Florence,  or 


126  JOHN   RUSKIN 

Venice,  for  every  touch  of  true  work  that  I  laid  in  their  sight.1  How 
much  more,  I  say,  should  it  have  been  pitiful  to  me,  to  recognize 
their  eager  intellect,  and  delicate  senses,  open  to  every  lesson  and 
every  joy  of  their  ancestral  art,  far  more  deeply  and  vividly  than  in 
the  days  when  every  spring  kindled  them  into  battle,  and  every 
autumn  was  red  with  their  blood:  yet  left  now,  alike  by  the 
laws  and  lords  set  over  them,  less  happy  in  aimless  life  than  of 
old  in  sudden  death;  never  one  effort  made  to  teach  them,  to  com- 
fort them,  to  economize  their  industries,  animate  their  pleasures, 
or  guard  their  simplest  rights  from  the  continually  more  fatal  op- 
pression of  unprincipled  avarice,  and  unmerciful  wealth. 

But  all  this  I  have  felt  and  learned,  like  so  much  else,  too  late. 
The  extreme  seclusion  of  my  early  training  left  me  long  careless  of 
sympathy  for  myself ;  and  that  which  I  gave  to  others  never  led  me 
into  any  hope  of  being  useful  to  them,  till  my  strength  of  active 
life  was  past.  Also,  my  mind  was  not  yet  catholic  enough  to  feel 
that  the  Campo  Santo  belonged  to  its  own  people  more  than  to  me ; 
and  indeed,  I  had  to  read  its  lessons  before  I  could  interpret  them. 
The  world  has  for  the  most  part  been  of  opinion  that  I  entered  on 
the  task  of  philanthropy  too  soon  rather  than  too  late :  at  all  events, 
my  conscience  remained  at  rest  during  all  those  first  times  at  Pisa, 
in  mere  delight  in  the  glory  of  the  past,  and  in  hope  for  the  future  of 
Italy,  without  need  of  my  becoming  one  of  her  demagogues.  And 
the  days  that  began  in  the  cloister  of  the  Campo  Santo  usually 
ended  by  my  getting  upon  the  roof  of  Santa  Maria  della  Spina,  and 
sitting  in  the  sunlight  that  transfused  the  warm  marble  of  its 
pinnacles,  till  the  unabated  brightness  went  down  beyond  the  arches 
of  the  Ponte-a-Mare,  —  the  few  footsteps  and  voices  of  the  twilight 
fell  silent  in  the  streets,  and  the  city  and  her  mountains  stood  mute 
as  a  dream,  beyond  the  soft  eddying  of  Arno. 

1  A  letter,  received  from  Miss  Alexander  as  I  correct  this  proof,  gives  a  singu- 
lar instance  of  this  power  in  the  Italian  peasant.  She  says:  —  "I  have  just  been 
drawing  a  magnificent  Lombard  shepherd,  who  sits  to  me  in  a  waistcoat  made 
from  the  skin  of  a  yellow  cow  with  the  hairy  side  out,  a  shirt  of  homespun  linen 
as  coarse  as  sailcloth,  a  scarlet  sash,  and  trousers  woven  (I  should  think)  from  the 
wool  of  the  black  sheep.  He  astonishes  me  all  the  time  by  the  great  amount  of 
good  advice  which  he  gives  me  about  my  work ;  and  always  right !  Whenever 
he  looks  at  my  unfinished  picture,  he  can  always  tell  me  exactly  what  it  wants." 


LEARNING   TO   WRITE  127 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

LEARNING  TO  WRITE 

[From  "A  College  Magazine,"  in  Memories  and  Portraits,  1887. 
Thistle  Edition,  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York.  For  the  Life  of 
Stevenson,  see  post,  p.  623.] 

All  through  my  boyhood  and  youth,  I  was  known  and  pointed  out 
for  the  pattern  of  an  idler;  and  yet  I  was  always  busy  on  my  own 
private  end,  which  was  to  learn  to  write.  I  kept  always  two  books 
in  my  pocket,  one  to  read,  one  to  write  in.  As  I  walked,  my  mind 
was  busy  fitting  what  I  saw  with  appropriate  words;  when  I  sat  by 
the  roadside,  I  would  either  read,  or  a  pencil  and  a  penny  version- 
book  would  be  in  my  hand,  to  note  down  the  features  of  the  scene  or 
commemorate  some  halting  stanzas.  Thus  I  lived  with  words. 
And  what  I  thus  wrote  was  for  no  ulterior  use,  it  was  written  con- 
sciously for  practice.  It  was  not  so  much  that  I  wished  to  be  an 
author  (though  I  wished  that  too)  as  that  I  had  vowed  that  I  would 
learn  to  write.  That  was  a  proficiency  that  tempted  me;  and  I 
practised  to  acquire  it,  as  men  learn  to  whittle,  in  a  wager  with 
myself.  Description  was  the  principal  field  of  my  exercise ;  for  to 
any  one  with  senses  there  is  always  something  worth  describing, 
and  town  and  country  are  but  one  continuous  subject.  But  I 
worked  in  other  ways  also;  often  accompanied  my  walks  with 
dramatic  dialogues,  in  which  I  played  many  parts;  and  often 
exercised  myself  in  writing  down  conversations  from  memory. 

This  was  all  excellent,  no  doubt ;  so  were  the  diaries  I  sometimes 
tried  to  keep,  but  always  and  very  speedily  discarded,  finding  them 
a  school  of  posturing  and  melancholy  self-deception.  And  yet  this 
was  not  the  most  efficient  part  of  my  training.  Good  though  it 
was,  it  only  taught  me  (so  far  as  I  have  learned  them  at  all)  the 
lower  and  less  intellectual  elements  of  the  art,  the  choice  of  the 
essential  note  and  the  right  word:  things  that  to  a  happier  con- 
stitution had  perhaps  come  by  nature.  And  regarded  as  training, 
it  had  one  grave  defect ;  for  it  set  me  no  standard  of  achievement. 
So  that  there  was  perhaps  more  profit,  as  there  was  certainly  more 
effort,  in  my  secret  labours  at  home.  Whenever  I  read  a  book  or  a 


128  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

passage  that  particularly  pleased  me,  in  which  a  thing  was  said  or 
an  effect  rendered  with  propriety,  in  which  there  was  either  some 
conspicuous  force  or  some  happy  distinction  in  the  style,  I  must  sit 
down  at  once  and  set  myself  to  ape  that  quality.  I  was  unsuccess- 
ful, and  I  knew  it ;  and  tried  again,  and  was  again  unsuccessful 
and  always  unsuccessful;  but  at  least  in  these  vain  bouts,  I  got 
some  practice  in  rhythm,  in  harmony,  in  construction  and  co- 
ordination of  parts.  I  have  thus  played  the  sedulous  ape  to 
Hazlitt,  to  Lamb,  to  Wordsworth,  to  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  to 
Defoe,  to  Hawthorne,  to  Montaigne,  to  Baudelaire  and  to  Ober- 
mann.  I  remember  one  of  these  monkey  tricks,  which  was  called 
The  Vanity  of  Morals:  it  was  to  have  had  a  second  part,  The 
Vanity  of  Knowledge;  and  as  I  had  neither  morality  nor  scholar- 
ship, the  names  were  apt ;  but  the  second  part  was  never  attempted, 
and  the  first  part  was  written  (which  is  my  reason  for  recalling  it, 
ghostlike,  from  its  ashes)  no  less  than  three  times:  first  in  the 
manner  of  Hazlitt,  second  in  the  manner  of  Ruskin,  who  had  cast 
on  me  a  passing  spell,  and  third,  in  a  laborious  pasticcio  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne.  So  with  my  other  works:  Cain,  an  epic,  was 
(save  the  mark ! )  an  imitation  of  Sordello :  Robin  Hood,  a  tale  in 
verse,  took  an  eclectic  middle  course  among  the  fields  of  Keats, 
Chaucer,  and  Morris :  in  Monmouth,  a  tragedy,  I  reclined  on  the 
bosom  of  Mr.  Swinburne ;  in  my  innumerable  gouty-footed  lyrics, 
I  followed  many  masters ;  in  the  first  draft  of  The  King's  Pardon, 
a  tragedy,  I  was  on  the  trail  of  no  lesser  man  than  John  Webster ; 
in  the  second  draft  of  the  same  piece,  with  staggering  versatility, 
I  had  shifted  my  allegiance  to  Congreve,  and  of  course  conceived 
my  fable  in  a  less  serious  vein  —  for  it  was  not  Congreve's  verse,  it 
was  his  exquisite  prose,  that  I  admired  and  sought  to  copy.  Even 
at  the  age  of  thirteen  I  had  tried  to  do  justice  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  famous  city  of  Peebles  in  the  style  of  the  Book  of  Snobs.  So  I 
might  go  on  for  ever,  through  all  my  abortive  novels,  and  down  to 
my  later  plays,  of  which  I  think  more  tenderly,  for  they  were  not 
only  conceived  at  first  under  the  bracing  influence  of  old  Dumas, 
but  have  met  with  resurrections :  one,  strangely  bettered  by  another 
hand,  came  on  the  stage  itself  and  was  played  by  bodily  actors; 
the  other,  originally  known  as  Semiramis:  a  Tragedy,  I  have 
observed  on  bookstalls  under  the  alias  of  Prince  Otto.  But  enough 


LEARNING   TO   WRITE  1 29 

has  been  said  to  show  by  what  arts  of  impersonation,  and  in  what 
purely  ventriloquial  efforts  I  first  saw  my  words  on  paper. 

That,  like  it  or  not,  is  the  way  to  learn  to  write;  whether  I  have 
profited  or  not,  that  is  the  way  .  It  was  so  Keats  learned,  and  there 
was  never  a  finer  temperament  for  literature  than  Keats's;  it  was  so 
if  we  could  trace  it  out,  that  all  men  have  learned ;  and  that  is  why  a 
revival  of  letters  is  always  accompanied  or  heralded  by  a  cast  back, 
to  earlier  and  fresher  models.  Perhaps  I  hear  someone  cry  out :  But 
this  is  not  the  way  to  be  original !  It  is  not ;  nor  is  there  any  way 
but  to  be  born  so.  Nor  yet,  if  you  are  born  original,  is  there  any- 
thing in  this  training  that  shall  clip  the  wings  of  your  originality. 
There  can  be  none  more  original  than  Montaigne,  neither  could  any 
be  more  unlike  Cicero ;  yet  no  craftsman  can  fail  to  see  how  much 
the  one  must  have  tried  in  his  time  to  imitate  the  other.  Burns  is 
the  very  type  of  a  prime  force  in  letters :  he  was  of  all  men  the  most 
imitative.  Shakespeare  himself,  the  imperial,  proceeds  directly 
from  a  school.  It  is  only  from  a  school  that  we  can  expect  to 
have  good  writers ;  it  is  almost  invariably  from  a  school  that  great 
writers,  these  lawless  exceptions,  issue.  Nor  is  there  anything 
here  that  should  astonish  the  considerate.  Before  he  can  tell 
what  cadences  he  truly  prefers,  the  student  should  have  tried 
all  that  are  possible;  before  he  can  choose  and  preserve  a  fit- 
ting key  of  words,  he  should  long  have  practised  the  literary 
scales ;  and  it  is  only  after  years  of  such  gymnastic  that  he  can 
sit  down  at  last,  legions  of  words  swarming  to  his  call,  dozens  of 
turns  of  phrase  simultaneously  bidding  for  his  choice,  and  he 
himself  knowing  what  he  wants  to  do  and  (within  the  narrow  limit 
of  a  man's  ability)  able  to  do  it. 

And  it  is  the  great  point  of  these  imitations  that  there  still  shines 
beyond  the  student's  reach  his  inimitable  model.  Let  him  try  as  he 
please,  he  is  still  sure  of  failure ;  and  it  is  a  very  old  and  a  very  true 
saying  that  failure  is  the  only  highroad  to  success.  I  must  have  had 
some  disposition  to  learn ;  for  I  clear-sightedly  condemned  my  own 
performances.  I  liked  doing  them  indeed;  but  when  they  were 
done,  I  could  see  they  were  rubbish.  In  consequence,  I  rarely 
showed  them  even  to  my  friends ;  and  such  friends  as  I  chose  to  be 
my  confidants  I  must  have  chosen  well,  for  they  had  the  friendliness 
to  be  quite  plain  with  me.  "Padding, "  said  one.  Another  wrote : 
K 


130  IZAAK   WALTON 

"I  cannot  understand  why  you  do  lyrics  so  badly. "  No  more  could 
I !  Thrice  I  put  myself  in  the  way  of  a  more  authoritative  rebuff, 
by  sending  a  paper  to  a  magazine.  These  were  returned ;  and  I 
was  not  surprised  nor  even  pained.  If  they  had  not  been  looked 
at,  as  (like  all  amateurs)  I  suspected  was  the  case,  there  was  no  good 
in  repeating  the  experiment;  if  they  had  been  looked  at— well,  then 
I  had  not  yet  learned  to  write,  and  I  must  keep  on  learning  and 
living.  Lastly,  I  had  a  piece  of  good  fortune  which  is  the  occasion 
of  this  paper,  and  by  which  I  was  able  to  see  my  literature  in  print, 
and  to  measure  experimentally  how  far  I  stood  from  the  favour 
of  the  public. 

IZAAK  WALTON 

THE  LIFE  OF  DR..  ROBERT  SANDERSON 
[First  published  in  1678.     Walton's  Lives,  John  Major,  London,  1825. 

WALTON,  IZAAK  (1593-1683),  author  of  'The  Compleat  Angler';  born  in 
Stafford;  apprentice  to  a  London  ironmonger;  in  business  for  himself  in 
London,  1614;  freeman  of  the  Ironmongers'  Company,  1618;  wrote  verses 
before  1619;  contributed  copies  of  verses  to  books  by  his  friends,  1638-61; 
favoured  the  royalists,  1642;  married  his  second  wife,  1646;  lived  with 
Bishop  George  Morley  at  Farnham,  1662-78;  lived  at  Winchester  with  his 
son-in-law,  Dr.  William  Hawkins,  canon  of  Winchester,  1678-83;  published 
his  biographies  of  Dr.  John  Donne,  1640,  of  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  1651,  of 
Richard  Hooker,  1665,  of  George  Herbert,  1670,  and  of  Bishop  Robert 
Sanderson,  1678;  'The  Compleat  Angler'  first  appeared  in  1653,  and  the 
second  edition  in  1655.  Cotton  wrote  his  dialogue  between  'Piscator'  and 
'Viator'  in  1676,  and  it  was  published  as  a  second  part  in  the  'Compleat 
Angler,'  5th  ed.,  1676.  —  Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N.  B. 

"It  is  very  delightful,  and  though  more  rambling  than  Plutarch,  comes 
nearer  to  him  than  any  other  life-writing  I  can  think  of.  Indeed,  I  shall  be 
inclined  to  say  that  Walton  had  a  genius  for  rambling  rather  than  that  it  was 
his  foible.  The  comfortable  feeling  he  gives  us  that  we  have  a  definite 
purpose,  mitigated  with  the  license  to  forget  it  at  the  first  temptation  and 
take  it  up  again  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  thus  satisfying  at  once  the 
conscientious  and  the  natural  man,  is  one  of  Walton's  most  prevailing 
charms.  .  .  . 

"I  have  hesitated  to  say  that  Walton  had  style,  because,  though  that 
quality,  the  handmaid  of  talent  and  the  helpmeet  of  genius,  have  left  the 
unobtrusive  traces  of  its  deft  hand  in  certain  choicer  parts  of  Walton's  writ- 
ing, —  his  guest-chambers  as  it  were,  —  yet  it  does  by  no  means  pervade 
and  regulate  the  whole.  For  in  a  book  we  feel  the  influence  of  style  every- 
where, though  we  never  catch  it  at  its  work,  as  in  a  house  we  divine  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  131 

neat-handed  ministry  of  woman.  Walton  too  often  leaves  his  sentences  in 
a  clutter.  But  there  are  other  qualities  which,  if  they  do  not  satisfy  like 
style,  are  yet  even  more  agreeable,  draw  us  nearer  to  an  author,  and  make 
us  happier  in  him.  Why  try  to  discover  what  the  charm  of  a  book  is,  if  only 
it  charm?  If  I  must  seek  a  word  that  more  than  any  other  explains  the 
pleasure  which  Walton's  way  of  writing  gives  us,  I  should  say  it  was  its 
innocency.  It  refreshes  like  the  society  of  children.  I  do  not  know  whether 
he  had  humor,  but  there  are  passages  that  suggest  it,  as  where,  after  quoting 
Montaigne's  delightful  description  of  how  he  played  with  his  cat,  he  goes  on: 
'Thus  freely  speaks  Montaigne  concerning  cats,'  as  if  he  had  taken  an 
undue  liberty  with  them;  or  where  he  makes  a  meteorologist  of  the  crab, 
that  'at  a  certain  age  gets  into  a  dead  fish's  shell,  and  like  a  hermit  dwells 
there  alone  studying  the  wind  and  weather;'  or  where  he  tells  us  of  the 
palmer- worm,  that  'he  will  boldly  and  disorderly  wander  up  and  down,  and 
not  endure  to  be  kept  to  a  diet  or  fixed  to  a  particular  place.'  And  what  he 
says  of  Sanderson  —  that  '  he  did  put  on  some  faint  purposes  to  marry '  — 
would  have  arrided  Lamb.  These,  if  he  meant  to  be  droll,  have  that  seem- 
ing inadvertence  which  gives  its  highest  zest  to  humor  and  makes  the  eye 
twinkle  with  furtive  connivance.  Walton's  weaknesses,  too,  must  be  reck- 
oned among  his  other  attractions.  He  praises  a  meditative  life,  and  with 
evident  sincerity;  but  we  feel  that  he  liked  nothing  so  well  as  good  talk. 
His  credulity  leaves  front  and  back  door  invitingly  open.  For  this  I  rather 
praise  than  censure  him,  since  it  brought  him  the  chance  of  a  miracle  at  any 
odd  moment,  and  this  complacency  of  belief  was  but  a  lower  form  of  the 
same  quality  of  mind'that  in  more  serious  questions  gave  him  his  equanimity 
of  faith.  And  how  persuasively  beautiful  that  equanimity  is ! "  —  JAMES 
RUSSELL  LOWELL,  "Walton,"  1889,  in  Latest  Literary  Essays  and  Addresses, 
pp.  76,  90-91.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston.] 

Doctor  Robert  Sanderson,  the  late  learned  Bishop  of  Lin- 
coln, whose  life  I  intend  to  write  with  all  truth  and  equal  plainness, 
was  born  the  nineteenth  day  of  September  in  the  year  of  our  Redemp- 
tion 1587.  The  place  of  his  birth  was  Rotherham1  in  the  county  of 
York ;  a  town  of  good  note,  and  the  more  for  that  Thomas  Rother- 
ham, sometime  archbishop  of  that  see,  was  born  in  it ;  a  man  whose 
great  wisdom,  and  bounty,  and  sanctity  of  life  have  made  it  the 
more  memorable :  as  indeed  it  ought  also  to  be,  for  being  the  birth- 
place of  our  Robert  Sanderson.  And  the  reader  will  be  of  my 
belief,  if  this  humble  relation  of  his  life  can  hold  any  proportion 
with  his  great  piety,  his  useful  learning,  and  his  many  other  ex- 
traordinary endowments. 

He  was  the  second  and  youngest  son  of  Robert  Sanderson, 
of  Gilthwaite  Hall,  in  the  said  Parish  and  County,  Esq.,  by 
Elizabeth,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Richard  Carr,  of  Butterthwaite 

1  This  is  a  mistake;   Bishop  Sanderson  was  born  at  Sheffield. 


132  IZAAK   WALTON 

Hall,  in  the  Parish  of  Ecclesfield,  in  the  said  County  of  York, 
Gentleman. 

This  Robert  Sanderson,  the  father,  was  descended  from  a 
numerous,  ancient,  and  honourable  family  of  his  own  name :  for 
the  search  of  which  truth,  I  refer  my  reader,  that  inclines  to  it, 
to  Dr.  Thoroton's  History  of  the  Antiquities  of  Nottinghamshire, 
and  other  records;  not  thinking  it  necessary  here  to  engage  him 
into  a  search  for  bare  titles,  which  are  noted  to  have  in  them 
nothing  of  reality:  for  titles  not  acquired,  but  derived  only,  do 
but  show  us  who  of  our  ancestors  have,  and  how  they  have  achieved 
that  honour  which  their  descendants  claim,  and  may  not  be  worthy 
to  enjoy.  For,  if  those  titles  descend  to  persons  that  degenerate 
into  vice,  and  break  off  the  continued  line  of  learning,  or  valour,  or 
that  virtue  that  acquired  them,  they  destroy  the  very  foundation 
upon  which  that  honour  was  built;  and  all  the  rubbish  of  their 
vices  ought  to  fall  heavy  on  such  dishonourable  heads;  ought  to 
fall  so  heavy  as  to  degrade  them  of  their  titles,  and  blast  their 
memories  with  reproach  and  shame. 

But  our  Robert  Sanderson  lived  worthy  of  his  name  and  family: 
of  which  one  testimony  may  be,  that  Gilbert,  called  the  Great 
Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  thought  him  not  unworthy  to  be  joined  with 
him  as  a  godfather ,to  Gilbert  Sheldon,  the  late  Lord  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury;  to  whose  merits  and  memory  posterity  —  the 
clergy  especially  —  ought  to  pay  a  reverence. 

But  I  return  to  my  intended  relation  of  Robert  the  son,  who 
began  in  his  youth  to  make  the  laws  of  God,  and  obedience  to  his 
parents,  the  rules  of  his  life;  seeming  even  then  to  dedicate  him- 
self, and  all  his  studies,  to  piety  and  virtue. 

And  as  he  was  inclined  to  this  by  that  native  goodness  with 
which  the  wise  Disposer  of  all  hearts  had  endowed  his,  so  this 
calm,  this  quiet  and  happy  temper  of  mind  —  his  being  mild,  and 
averse  to  oppositions  —  made  the  whole  course  of  his  life  easy 
and  grateful  both  to  himself  and  others :  and  this  blessed  temper 
was  maintained  and  improved  by  his  prudent  father's  good  example ; 
and  by  frequent  conversing  with  him,  and  scattering  short  apoph- 
thegms and  little  pleasant  stories,  and  making  useful  applications  of 
them,  his  son  was  in  his  infancy  taught  to  abhor  vanity  and  vice  as 
monsters,  and  to  discern  the  loveliness  of  wisdom  and  virtue ;  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  133 

by  these  means,  and  God's  concurring  grace,  his  knowledge  was 
so  augmented,  and  his  native  goodness  so  confirmed,  that  all 
became  so  habitual,  as  it  was  not  easy  to  determine  whether  nature 
or  education  were  his  teachers. 

And  here  let  me  tell  the  reader,  that  these  early  beginnings  of 
virtue  were,  by  God's  assisting  grace,  blessed  with  what  St.  Paul 
seemed  to  beg  for  his  Philippians;  *  namely,  "That  he  that  had  be- 
gun a  good  work  in  them  would  finish  it. "  And  Almighty  God  did : 
for  his  whole  life  was  so  regular  and  innocent,  that  he  might  have 
said  at  his  death  —  and  with  truth  and  comfort  —  what  the  same 
St.  Paul  said  after  to  the  same  Philippians,  when  he  advised  them 
to  walk  as  they  had  him  for  an  example.2 

And  this  goodness  of  which  I  have  spoken,  seemed  to  increase 
as  his  years  did ;  and  with  his  goodness  his  learning,  the  founda- 
tion of  which  was  laid  in  the  grammar  school  of  Rotherham  — 
that  being  one  of  those  three  that  were  founded  and  liberally 
endowed  by  the  said  great  and  good  Bishop  of  that  name.  .And 
in  this  time  of  his  being  a  scholar  there  he  was  observed  to  use 
an  unwearied  diligence  to  attain  learning,  and  to  have  a  serious- 
ness beyond  his  age,  and  with  it  a  more  than  common  modesty; 
and  to  be  of  so  calm  and  obliging  a  behaviour,  that  the  master 
and  whole  number  of  scholars  loved  him  as  one  man. 

And  in  this  love  and  amity  he  continued  at  that  school  till 
about  the  thirteenth  year  of  his  age;  at  which  time  his  father 
designed  to  improve  his  grammar  learning  by  removing  him 
from  Rotherham  to  one  of  the  more  noted  schools  of  Eton  or 
Westminster;  and  after  a  year's  stay  there,  then  to  remove  him 
thence  to  Oxford.  But  as  he  went  with  him,  he  called  on  an 
old  friend,  a  minister  of  noted  learning,  and  told  him  his  inten- 
tions; and  he,  after  many  questions  with  his  son,  received  such 
answers  from  him,  that  he  assured  his  father,  his  son  was  so 
perfect  a  grammarian,  that  he  had  laid  a  good  foundation  to 
build  any  or  all  the  arts  upon;  and  therefore  advised  him  to 
shorten  his  journey,  and  leave  him  at  Oxford.  And  his  father 
did  so. 

His  father  left  him  there  to  the  sole  care  and  manage  of  Dr. 
Kilbie,  who  was  then  Rector  of  Lincoln  College.  And  he,  after 

1  Phil.  i.  6.  2.  Phil.  iii.  17. 


134  IZAAK   WALTON 

some  time  and  trial  of  his  manners  and  learning,  thought  fit  to 
enter  him  of  that  college,  and  after  to  matriculate  him  in  the 
university,  which  he  did  the  first  of  July,  1603 ;  but  he  was  not 
chosen  Fellow  till  the  third  of  May,  1606;  at  which  time  he  had 
taken  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts :  at  the  taking  of  which  degree 
his  tutor  told  the  rector,  "That  his  pupil  Sanderson  had  a  meta- 
physical brain  and  a  matchless  memory;  and  that  he  thought 
he  had  improved  or  made  the  last  so  by  an  art  of  his  own  inven- 
tion." And  all  the  future  employments  of  his  life  proved  that 
his  tutor  was  not  mistaken.  I  must  here  stop  my  reader,  and  tell 
him  that  this  Dr.  Kilbie  was  a  man  of  so  great  learning  and 
wisdom,  and  was  so  excellent  a  critic  in  the  Hebrew  tongue, 
that  he  was  made  Professor  of  it  in  this  university;  and  was  also 
so  perfect  a  Grecian,  that  he  was  by  King  James  appointed  to  be 
one  of  the  translators  of  the  Bible ;  and  that  this  Doctor  and  Mr. 
Sanderson  had  frequent  discourses,  and  loved  as  father  and 
son.  The  Doctor  was  to  ride  a  journey  into  Derbyshire,  and 
took  Mr.  Sanderson  to  bear  him  company:  and  they  going 
together  on  a  Sunday  with  the  Doctor's  friend  to  that  parish 
church  where  they  then  were,  found  the  young  preacher  to  have 
no  more  discretion  than  to  waste  a  great  part  of  the  hour  allotted 
for  his  sermon  in  exceptions  against  the  late  translation  of  several 
words,  —  not  expecting  such  a  hearer  as  Dr.  Kilbie,  —  and 
showed  three  reasons  why  a  particular  word  should  have  been 
otherwise  translated.  When  evening  prayer  was  ended,  the 
preacher  was  invited  to  the  Doctor's  friend's  house;  where  after 
some  other  conference  the  Doctor  told  him,  "He  might  have 
preached  more  useful  doctrine,  and  not  have  filled  his  auditors' 
ears  with  needless  exceptions  against  the  late  translation:  and 
for  that  word  for  which  he  offered  to  that  poor  congregation  three 
reasons  why  it  ought  to  have  been  translated  as  he  said,  he  and 
others  had  considered  all  them,  and  found  thirteen  more  con- 
siderable reasons  why  it  was  translated  as  now  printed;"  and 
told  him,  "  If  his  friend,  then  attending  him,  should  prove  guilty 
of  such  indiscretion,  he  should  forfeit  his  favour."  To  which 
Mr.  Sanderson  said,  "  He  hoped  he  should  not."  And  the  preacher 
was  so  ingenuous  as  to  say,  "He  would  not  justify  himself." 
And  so  I  return  to  Oxford.  In  the  year  1608,  —  July  the  nth,— 


THE   LIFE   OF   DR.    ROBERT  SANDERSON  135 

Mr.  Sanderson  was  completed  Master  of  Arts.  I  am  not  ignorant, 
that  for  the  attaining  these  dignities  the  time  was  shorter  than 
was  then  or  is  now  required;  but  either  his  birth  or  the  well 
performance  of  some  extraordinary  exercise,  or  some  other  merit, 
made  him  so:  and  the  reader  is  requested  to  believe,  that  'twas 
the  last:  and  requested  to  believe  also,  that  if  I  be  mistaken  in 
the  time,  the  college  records  have  misinformed  me:  but  I  hope 
they  have  not. 

In  that  year  of  1608,  he  was  —  November  the  ;th  —  by  his 
college  chosen  Reader  of  Logic  in  the  house ;  which  he  performed 
so  well,  that  he  was  chosen  again  the  sixth  of  November,  1609. 
In  the  year  1613,  he  was  chosen  Sub-Rector  of  the  college,  and 
the  like  for  the  year  1614,  and  chosen  again  to  the  same  dignity 
and  trust  for  the  year  1616. 

In  all  which  time  and  employments,  his  abilities  and  behav- 
iour were  such  as  procured  him  both  love  and  reverence  from 
the  whole  society;  there  being  no  exception  against  him  for 
any  faults,  but  a  sorrow  for  the  infirmities  of  his  being  too 
timorous  and  bashful;  both  which  were,  God  knows,  so  con- 
natural as  they  never  left  him.  And  I  know  not  whether  his 
lovers  ought  to  wish  they  had ;  for  they  proved  so  like  the  radical 
moisture  in  man's  body,  that  they  preserved  the  life  of  virtue 
in  his  soul,  which  by  God's  assisting  grace  never  left  him  till 
this  life  put  on  immortality.  Of  which  happy  infirmities  —  if 
they  may  be  so  called  —  more  hereafter. 

In  the  year  1614  he  stood  to  be  elected  one  of  the  Proctors 
for  the  university.  And  'twas  not  to  satisfy  any  ambition  of 
his  own,  but  to  comply  with  the  desire  of  the  rector  and  whole 
society,  of  which  he  was  a  member;  who  had  not  had  a  Proctor 
chosen  out  of  their  college  for  the  space  of  sixty  years ;  —  namely, 
not  from  the  year  1554,  unto  his  standing;  —  and  they  persuaded 
him,  that  if  he  would  but  stand  for  Proctor,  his  merits  were  so 
generally  known,  and  he  so  well  beloved,  that  'twas  but  ap- 
pearing, and  he  would  infallibly  carry  it  against  any  opposers; 
and  told  him,  "That  he  would  by  that  means  recover  a  right 
or  reputation  that  was  seemingly  dead  to  his  college."  By  these, 
and  other  like  persuasions,  he  yielded  up  his  own  reason  to  theirs, 
and  appeared  to  stand  for  Proctor.  But  that  election  was  car- 


136  IZAAK   WALTON 

ried  on  by  so  sudden  and  secret,  and  by  so  powerful  a  faction, 
that  he  missed  it.  Which,  when  he  understood,  he  professed  seri- 
ously to  his  friends,  "That  if  he  were  troubled  at  the  disappoint- 
ment, it  was  for  theirs,  and  not  for  his  own  sake:  for  he  was  far 
from  any  desire  of  such  an  employment,  as  must  be  managed 
with  charge  and  trouble,  and  was  too  usually  rewarded  with  hard 
censures,  or  hatred,  or  both." 

In  the  year  following  he  was  earnestly  persuaded  by  Dr.  Kilbie 
and  others  to  review  the  logic  lectures  which  he  had  read  some 
years  past  in  his  college;  and,  that  done,  to  methodise  and  print 
them,  for  the  ease  and  public  good  of  posterity.  But  though  he 
had  an  averseness  to  appear  publicly  in  print;  yet  after  many 
serious  solicitations,  and  some  second  thoughts  of  his  own,  he 
laid  aside  his  modesty,  and  promised  he  would:  and  he  did  so 
in  that  year  of  1615.  And  the  book  proved  as  his  friends  seemed 
to  prophesy,  that  is,  of  great  and  general  use,  whether  we  respect 
the  art  or  the  author.  For  logic  may  be  said  to  be  an  art  of  right 
reasoning;  an  art  that  undeceives  men  who  take  falsehood  for 
truth;  enables  men  to  pass  a  true  judgment,  and  detect  those 
fallacies,  which  in  some  men's  understandings  usurp  the  place  of 
right  reason.  And  how  great  a  master  our  author  was  in  this  art 
will  quickly  appear  from  that  clearness  of  method,  argument, 
and  demonstration  which  is  so  conspicuous  in  all  his  other  writ- 
ings. He,  who  had  attained  to  so  great  a  dexterity  in  the  use  of 
reason  himself,  was  best  qualified  to  prescribe  rules  and  direc- 
tions for  the  instruction  of  others.  And  I  am  the  more  satisfied 
of  the  excellency  and  usefulness  of  this,  his  first  public  under- 
taking, by  hearing  that  most  tutors  in  both  universities  teach  Dr. 
Sanderson's  Logic  to  their  pupils,  as  a  foundation  upon  which 
they  are  to  build  their  future  studies  in  philosophy.  And,  for 
a  further  confirmation  of  my  belief,  the  reader  may  note,  that 
since  his  book  of  logic  was  first  printed  there  has  not  been  less 
than  ten  thousand  sold:  and  that  'tis  like  to  continue  both  to 
discover  truth  and  to  clear  and  confirm  the  reason  of  the  unborn 
world. 

It  will  easily  be  believed  that  his  former  standing  for  a  Proc- 
tor's place,  and  being  disappointed,  must  prove  much  displeasing 
to  a  man  of  his  great  wisdom  and  modesty,  and  create  in  him  an 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  137 

averseness  to  run  a  second  hazard  of  his  credit  and  content :  and 
yet  he  was  assured  by  Dr.  Kilbie,  and  the  Fellows  of  his  own 
college,  and  most  of  those  that  had  opposed  him  in  the  former 
election,  that  his  book  of  logic  had  purchased  for  him  such  a 
belief  of  his  learning  and  prudence,  and  his  behaviour  at  the 
former  election  had  got  for  him  so  great  and  so  general  a  love, 
that  all  his  former  opposers  repented  what  they  had  done;  and 
therefore  persuaded  him  to  venture  to  stand  a  second  time.  And, 
upon  these,  and  other  like  encouragements,  he  did  again,  but 
not  without  an  inward  unwillingness,  yield  up  his  own  reason  to 
theirs,  and  promised  to  stand.  And  he  did  so;  and  was,  the 
tenth  of  April,  1616,  chosen  Senior  Proctor  for  the  year  following; 
Mr.  Charles  Crooke  of  Christ  Church  being  then  chosen  the 
Junior. 

In  this  year  of  his  being  Proctor,  there  happened  many  memo- 
rable accidents;  namely,  Dr.  Robert  Abbot,  Master  of  Balliol 
College,  and  Regius  Professor  of  Divinity,  —  who  being  elected 
or  consecrated  Bishop  of  Sarum  some  months  before,  —  was 
solemnly  conducted  out  of  Oxford  towards  his  diocese  by  the 
heads  of  all  houses,  and  the  chief  of  all  the  university.  And 
Dr.  Prideaux  succeeded  him  in  the  Professorship,  in  which  he 
continued  till  the  year  1642,  —  being  then  elected  Bishop  of 
Worcester,  —  and  then  our  now  Proctor,  Mr.  Sanderson,  suc- 
ceeded him  in  the  Regius  Professorship. 

And  in  this  year  Dr.  Arthur  Lake  —  then  Warden  of  New 
College  —  was  advanced  to  the  Bishopric  of  Bath  and  Wells:  a 
man  of  whom  I  take  myself  bound  in  justice  to  say,  that  he  has 
made  the  great  trust  committed  to  him  the  chief  care  and  whole 
business  of  his  life.  And  one  testimony  of  this  proof  may  be, 
that  he  sate  usually  with  his  chancellor  in  his  consistory,  and  at 
least  advised,  if  not  assisted,  in  most  sentences  for  the  punish- 
ing of  such  offenders  as  deserved  Church  censuses.  And  it  may 
be  noted  that,  after  a  sentence  for  penance  was  pronounced,  he 
did  very  rarely,  or  never,  allow  of  any  commutation  for  the  of- 
fence, but  did  usually  see  the  sentence  for  penance  executed; 
and  then  as  usually  preached  a  sermon  on  mortification  and 
repentance,  and  did  so  apply  them  to  the  offenders  that  then 
stood  before  him,  as  begot  in  them  a  devout  contrition,  and  at 


138  IZAAK  WALTON 

least  resolutions  to  amend  their  lives:  and  having  done  that,  he 
would  take  them  —  though  never  so  poor —  to  dinner  with  him,  and 
use  them  friendly,  and  dismiss  them  with  his  blessing  and  per- 
suasions to  a  virtuous  life,  and  beg  them  to  believe  him.  And 
his  humility  and  charity,  and  other  Christian  excellencies,  were 
all  like  this.  Of  all  which  the  reader  may  inform  himself  in  his 
life,  truly  writ,  and  printed  before  his  sermons. 

And  in  this  year  also,  the  very  prudent  and  very  wise  Lord 
Ellesmere,  who  was  so  very  long  Lord  Chancellor  of  England, 
and  then  of  Oxford,  resigning  up  the  last,  the  Right  Honourable, 
and  as  magnificent,  William  Herbert,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  was 
chosen  to  succeed  him. 

And  in  this  year  our  late  King  Charles  the  First  —  then  Prince 
of  Wales  —  came  honourably  attended  to  Oxford ;  and  having 
deliberately  visited  the  university,  the  schools,  colleges,  and 
libraries,  he  and  his  attendants  were  entertained  with  ceremonies 
and  feasting  suitable  to  their  dignity  and  merits. 

And  this  year  King  James  sent  letters  to  the  university  for 
the  regulating  their  studies;  especially  of  the  young  divines: 
advising  they  should  not  rely  on  modern  sums  and  systems,  but 
study  the  fathers  and  councils,  and  the  more  primitive  learning. 
And  this  advice  was  occasioned  by  the  indiscreet  inferences 
made  by  very  many  preachers  out  of  Mr.  Calvin's  doctrine  con- 
cerning predestination,  universal  redemption,  the  irresistibil- 
ity of  God's  grace,  and  of  some  other  knotty  points  depending 
upon  these;  points  which  many  think  were  not,  but  by  inter- 
preters forced  to  be,  Mr.  Calvin's  meaning ;  of  the  truth  or  false- 
hood of  which  I  pretend  not  to  have  an  ability  to  judge;  my 
meaning  in  this  relation  being  only  to  acquaint  the  reader  with 
the  occasion  of  the  King's  letter. 

It  may  be  observed  that  the  various  accidents  of  this  year 
did  afford  our  Proctor  large  and  laudable  matter  to  dilate  and 
discourse  upon:  and  that  though  his  office  seemed,  according 
to  statute  and  custom,  to  require  him  to  do  so  at  his  leaving 
it;  yet  he  chose  rather  to  pass  them  over  with  some  very  short 
observations,  and  present  the  governors,  and  his  other  hearers, 
with  rules  to  keep  up  discipline  and  order  in  the  university; 
which  at  that  time  was,  either  by  defective  statutes,  or  want  of 


THE  LIFE  OF   DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  139 

the  due  execution  of  those  that  were  good,  grown  to  be  extremely 
irregular.  And  in  this  year  also,  the  magisterial  part  of  the  Proc- 
tor required  more  diligence,  and  was  more  difficult  to  be  man- 
aged than  formerly,  by  reason  of  a  multiplicity  of  new  statutes, 
which  begot  much  confusion;  some  of  which  statutes  were  then, 
and  others  suddenly  after,  put  into  an  useful  execution.  And 
though  these  statutes  were  not  then  made  so  perfectly  useful  as 
they  were  designed,  till  Archbishop  Laud's  time  —  who  assisted 
in  the  forming  and  promoting  them ;  —  yet  our  present  Proctor 
made  them  as  effectual  as  discretion  and  diligence  could  do: 
of  which  one  example  may  seem  worthy  the  noting;  namely, 
that  if  in  his  night  walk  he  met  with  irregular  scholars  absent 
from  their  colleges  at  university  hours,  or  disordered  by  drink, 
or  in  scandalous  company,  he  did  not  use  his  power  of  punishing 
to  an  extremity ;  but  did  usually  take  their  names,  and  a  promise 
to  appear  before  him  unsent  for  next  morning:  and  when  they 
did,  convinced  them,  with  such  obligingness,  and  reason  added 
to  it,  that  they  parted  from  him  with  such  resolutions  as  the 
man  after  God's  own  heart  was  possessed  with,  when  he  said, 
"There  is  mercy  with  thee,  and  therefore  thou  shalt  be  feared"  — 
Psa.  cxxx.  4.  And  by  this  and  a  like  behaviour  to  all  men,  he 
was  so  happy  as  to  lay  down  this  dangerous  employment,  as  but 
very  few,  if  any,  have  done,  even  without  an  enemy. 

After  his  speech  was  ended,  and  he  retired  with  a  friend  into 
a  convenient  privacy,  he  looked  upon  his  friend  with  a  more 
than  common  cheerfulness,  and  spake  to  him  to  this  purpose: 
"I  look  back  upon  my  late  employment  with  some  content  to 
myself,  and  a  great  thankfulness  to  Almighty  God  that  he  hath 
made  me  of  a  temper  not  apt  to  provoke  the  meanest  of  man- 
kind, but  rather  to  pass  by  infirmities,  if  noted;  and  in  this 
employment  I  have  had  —  God  knows  —  many  occasions  to  do 
both.  And  when  I  consider  how  many  of  a  contrary  temper 
are  by  sudden  and  small  occasions  transported  and  hurried  by 
anger  to  commit  such  errors  as  they  in  that  passion  could  not 
foresee,  and  will  in  their  more  calm  and  deliberate  thoughts  up- 
braid, and  require  repentance :  and  consider,  that  though  repent- 
ance secures  us  from  the  punishment  of  any  sin,  yet  how  much 
more  comfortable  it  is  to  be  innocent  than  need  pardon:  and 


140  IZAAK  WALTON 

consider,  that  errors  against  men,  though  pardoned  both  by 
God  and  them,  do  yet  leave  such  anxious  and  upbraiding  im- 
pressions in  the  memory,  as  abates  of  the  offender's  content: 

—  when  I  consider  all  this,  and  that  God  hath  of  his  goodness 
given  me  a  temper  that  hath  prevented  me  from  running  into 
such  enormities,  I  remember  my  temper  with  joy  and  thankful- 
ness.    And  though  I  cannot  say  with  David — I  wish  I  could, 

—  that  therefore  "his  praise  shall    always  be  in  my  mouth" 
(Psa.  xxxiv.  i) ;    yet  I  hope,  that  by  his  grace,  and  that  grace 
seconded  by  my  endeavours,  it  shall  never  be  blotted  out  of  my 
memory;    and    I   now    beseech    Almighty   God    that   it    never 
may." 

And  here  I  must  look  back,  and  mention  one  passage  more 
in  his  Proctorship,  which  is,  that  Gilbert  Sheldon,  the  late  Lord 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was  this  year  sent  to  Trinity  College 
in  that  university;  and  not  long  after  his  entrance  there,  a 
letter  was  sent  after  him  from  his  godfather  —  the  father  of  our 
Proctor  —  to  let  his  son  know  it,  and  commend  his  godson  to 
his  acquaintance,  and  to  more  than  a  common  care  of  his  be- 
haviour; which  proved  a  pleasing  injunction  to  our  Proctor, 
who  was  so  gladly  obedient  to  his  father's  desire,  that  he  some  few 
days  after  sent  his  servitor  to  entreat  Mr.  Sheldon  to  his  chamber 
next  morning.  But  it  seems  Mr.  Sheldon  having  —  like  a  young 
man  as  he  was  —  run  into  some  such  irregularity  as  made  him 
conscious  he  had  trangressed  his  statutes,  did  therefore  appre- 
hend the  Proctor's  invitation  as  an  introduction  to  punishment; 
the  fear  of  which  made  his  bed  restless  that  night:  but,  at  their 
meeting  the  next  morning,  that  fear  vanished  immediately  by 
the  Proctor's  cheerful  countenance,  and  the  freedom  of  their 
discourse  of  friends.  And  let  me  tell  my  reader,  that  this  first 
meeting  proved  the  beginning  of  as  spiritual  a  friendship  as 
human  nature  is  capable  of;  of  a  friendship  free  from  all  self- 
ends:  and  it  continued  to  be  so,  till  death  forced  a  separation 
of  it  on  earth ;  but  it  is  now  reunited  in  heaven. 

And  now,  having  given  this  account  of  his  behaviour,  and  the 
considerable  accidents,  in  his  Proctorship,  I  proceed  to  tell  my 
reader,  that,  this  busy  employment  being  ended,  he  preached 
his  sermon  for  his  degree  of  Bachelor  in  Divinity  in  as  elegant 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  141 

Latin,  and  as  remarkable  for  the  matter,  as  hath  been  preached 
in  that  university  since  that  day.  And  having  well  performed 
his  other  exercises  for  that  degree,  he  took  it  the  nine-and-twen- 
tieth  of  May  following,  having  been  ordained  deacon  and  priest 
in  the  year  1611,  by  John  King,  then  Bishop  of  London,  who 
had  not  long  before  been  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  and  then  knew 
him  so  well,  that  he  became  his  most  affectionate  friend.  And 
In  this  year,  being  then  about  the  twenty-ninth  of  his  age,  he 
took  from  the  university  a  licence  to  preach. 

In  the  year  1618,  he  was  by  Sir  Nicholas  Sanderson,  Lord 
Viscount  Castleton,  presented  to  the  rectory  of  Wibberton,  not 
far  from  Boston,  in  the  county  of  Lincoln,  a  living  of  very  good 
value ;  but  it  lay  in  so  low  and  wet  a  part  of  that  country  as  was 
inconsistent  with  his  health.  And  health  being  —  next  to  a  good 
conscience ' —  the  greatest  of  God's  blessings  in  this  life,  and 
requiring  therefore  of  every  man  a  care  and  diligence  to  pre- 
serve it,  he,  apprehending  a  danger  of  losing  it,  if  he  continued 
at  Wibberton  a  second  winter,  did  therefore  resign  it  back  into 
the  hands  of  his  worthy  kinsman  and  patron,  about  one  year 
after  his  donation  of  it  to  him. 

And  about  this  time  of  his  resignation  he  was  presented  to 
the  rectory  of  Boothby  Pannell,  in  the  same  county  of  Lincoln; 
a  town  which  has  been  made  famous,  and  must  continue  to  be 
famous,  because  Dr.  Sanderson,  the  humble  and  learned  Dr. 
Sanderson,  was  more  than  forty  years  parson  of  Boothby  Pannell, 
and  from  thence  dated  all  or  most  of  his  matchless  writings. 

To  this  living  —  which  was  of  no  less  value,  but  a  purer  air 
than  Wibberton  —  he  was  presented  by  Thomas  Harrington, 
of  the  same  county  and  parish,  Esq.,  who  was  a  gentleman  of 
a  very  ancient  family,  and  of  great  use  and  esteem  in  his  country 
during  his  whole  life.  And  in  this  Boothby  Pannell  the  meek 
and  charitable  Dr.  Sanderson  and  his  patron  lived  with  an  endear- 
ing, mutual,  and  comfortable  friendship,  till  the  death  of  the 
last  put  a  period  to  it. 

About  the  time  that  he  was  made  parson  of  Boothby  Pannell, 
he  resigned  his  Fellowship  of  Lincoln  College  unto  the  then 
Rector  and  Fellows;  and  his  resignation  is  recorded  in  these 
words : 


142  IZAAK   WALTON 

Ego  Robertus  Sanderson  perpetuus,  etc. 

I,  Robert  Sanderson,  Fellow  of  the  College  of  St.  Mary's  and 
All-Saints,  commonly  called  Lincoln  College,  in  the  University  of 
Oxford,  do  freely  and  willingly  resign  into  the  hands  of  the  Rector 
and  Fellows,  all  the  right  and  title  that  I  have  in  the  said  college, 
wishing  to  them  and  their  successors  all  peace,  and  piety,  and 
happiness,  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  Amen. 

May  6,  1691.  ROBERT  SANDERSON. 

And  not  long  after  this  resignation,  he  was  by  the  then  Bishop 
of  York,  or  the  King  sede  vacante,  made  Prebend  of  the  Collegiate 
Church  of  Southwell  in  that  diocese ;  and  shortly  after  of  Lincoln 
by  the  bishop  of  that  see. 

And  being  now  resolved  to  set  down  his  rest  in  a  quiet  privacy 
at  Boothby  Pannell,  and  looking  back  with  some  sadness  upon  his 
removal  from  his  general  acquaintance  left  in  Oxford,  and  the  pecul- 
iar pleasures  of  a  university  life ;  he  could  not  but  think  the  want 
of  society  would  render  this  of  a  country  parson  the  more  uncom- 
fortable, by  reason  of  that  want  of  conversation ;  and  therefore  he 
did  put  on  some  faint  purposes  to  marry.  For  he  had  considered, 
that  though  marriage  be  cumbered  with  more  worldly  care  than  a 
single  life ;  yet  a  complying  and  a  prudent  wife  changes  those  very 
cares  into  so  mutual  a  content,  as  makes  them  become  like  the 
sufferings  of  St.  Paul  (Colos.  i.  24),  which  he  would  not  have  wanted, 
because  they  occasioned  his  rejoicing  in  them.  And  he,  having 
well  considered  this,  and  observed  the  secret  unutterable  joys  that 
children  beget  in  parents,  and  the  mutual  pleasures  and  contented 
trouble  of  their  daily  care  and  constant  endeavours  to  bring  up 
those  little  images  of  themselves,  so  as  to  make  them  as  happy  as  all 
those  cares  and  endeavours  can  make  them :  he,  having  considered 
all  this,  the  hopes  of  such  happiness  turned  his  faint  purposes  into 
a  positive  resolution  to  marry.  And  he  was  so  happy  as  to  obtain 
Anne,  the  daughter  of  Henry  Nelson,  Bachelor  in  Divinity,  then 
Rector  of  Haugham,in  the  county  of  Lincoln,  a  man  of  noted  worth 
and  learning.  And  the  Giver  of  all  good  things  was  so  good  to 
him,  as  to  give  him  such  a  wife  as  was  suitable  to  his  own  desires; 
a  wife  that  made  his  life  happy  by  being  always  content  when  he 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  143 

was  cheerful;  that  divided  her  joys  with  him,  and  abated  of  his 
sorrow,  by  bearing  a  part  of  that  burden ;  a  wife  that  demonstrated 
her  affection  by  a  cheerful  obedience  to  all  his  desires,  during  the 
whole  course  of  his  life;  and  at  his  death  too,  for  she  outlived  him. 

And  in  this  Boothby  Pannell,  he  either  found  or  made  his  parish- 
ioners peaceable  and  complying  with  him  in  the  decent  and  regular 
service  of  God.  And  thus  his  parish,  his  patron,  and  he  lived 
together  in  a  religious  love  and  a  contented  quietness ;  he  not  trou- 
bling their  thoughts  by  preaching  high  and  useless  notions,  but  such 
plain  truths  as  were  necessary  to  be  known,  believed  and  practised, 
in  order  to  their  salvation.  And  their  assent  to  what  he  taught  was 
testified  by  such  a  conformity  to  his  doctrine,  as  declared  they  be- 
lieved and  loved  him.  For  he  would  often  say,  "That,  without  the 
last,  the  most  evident  truths  —  heard  as  from  an  enemy,  or  an  evil 
liver  —  either  are  not,  or  are  at  least  the  less  effectual ;  and  do 
usually  rather  harden  than  convince  the  hearer." 

And  this  excellent  man  did  not  think  his  duty  discharged  by 
only  reading  the  Church  prayers,  catechising,  preaching,  and  ad- 
ministering the  Sacraments  seasonably ;  but  thought  —  if  the  law 
or  the  canons  may  seem  to  enjoin  no  more,  —  yet  that  God  would 
require  more,  than  the  defective  laws  of  man's  making  can  or  do 
enjoin;  the  performance  of  that  inward  law  which  Almighty  God 
hath  imprinted  in  the  conscience  of  all  good  Christians,  and  in- 
clines those  whom  he  loves  to  perform.  He,  considering  this,  did 
therefore  become  a  law  to  himself,  practising  what  his  conscience 
told  him  was  his  duty,  in  reconciling  differences,  and  preventing 
law-suits,  both  in  his  parish  and  in  the  neighbourhood.  To  which 
may  be  added  his  often  visiting  sick  and  disconsolate  families, 
persuading  them  to  patience,  and  raising  them  from  dejection  by 
his  advice  and  cheerful  discourse,  and  by  adding  his  own  alms, 
if  there  were  any  so  poor  as  to  need  it:  considering  how  accept- 
able it  is  to  Almighty  God,  when  we  do  as  we  are  advised  by 
St.  Paul  (Gal.  vi.  2),  "  Help  to  bear  one  another's  burden,"  either 
of  sorrow  or  want :  and  what  a  comfort  it  will  be,  when  the 
Searcher  of  all  hearts  shall  call  us  to  a  strict  account  for  that  evil 
we  have  done,  and  the  good  we  have  omitted,  to  remember  we 
have  comforted  and  been  helpful  to  a  dejected  or  distressed 
family. 


144  IZAAK   WALTON 

And  that  his  practice  was  to  do  good,  one  example  may  be, 
that  he  met  with  a  poor  dejected  neighbour,  that  complained  he 
had  taken  a  meadow,  the  rent  of  which  was  fy  a  year;  and  when 
the  hay  was  made  ready  to  be  carried  into  his  barn,  several  days' 
constant  rain  had  so  raised  the  water,  that  a  sudden  flood  carried 
all  away,  and  his  rich  landlord  would  bate  him  no  rent;  and 
that  unless  he  had  half  abated,  he  and  seven  children  were 
utterly  undone.  It  may  be  noted,  that  in  this  age,  there  are  a 
sort  of  people  so  unlike  the  God  of  Mercy,  so  void  of  the  bowels 
of  pity,  that  they  love  only  themselves  and  children;  love  them 
so,  as  not  to  be  concerned  whether  the  rest  of  mankind  waste 
their  days  in  sorrow  or  shame;  people  that  are  cursed  with 
riches,  and  a  mistake  that  nothing  but  riches  can  make  them 
and  theirs  happy.  But  it  was  not  so  with  Dr.  Sanderson;  for 
he  was  concerned,  and  spoke  comfortably  to  the  poor  dejected 
man;  bade  him  go  home  and  pray,  and  not  load  himself 
with  sorrow,  for  he  would  go  to  his  landlord  next  morning; 
and  if  his  landlord  would  not  abate  what  he  desired,  he  and  a 
friend  would  pay  it  for  him. 

To  the  landlord  he  went  the  next  day,  and,  in  a  conference,  the 
Doctor  presented  to  him  the  sad  condition  of  his  poor  dejected 
tenant;  telling  him  how  much  God  is  pleased  when  men  compas- 
sionate the  poor :  and  told  him,  that  though  God  loves  sacrifice,  yet 
he  loves  mercy  so  much  better,  that  he  is  pleased  when  called  the 
God  of  Mercy.  And  told  him,  the  riches  he  was  possessed  of  were 
given  him  by  that  God  of  Mercy,  who  would  not  be  pleased  if  he, 
that  had  so  much  given,  yea,  and  forgiven  him  too,  should  prove  like 
the  rich  steward  in  the  gospel,  "that  took  his  fellow-servant  by  the 
throat  to  make  him  pay  the  utmost  farthing. "  This  he  told  him  : 
and  told  him,  that  the  law  of  this  nation  —  by  which  law  he  claims 
his  rent  —  does  not  undertake  to  make  men  honest  or  merciful ; 
but  does  what  it  can  to  restrain  men  from  being  dishonest  or  unmer- 
ciful, and  yet  was  defective  in  both :  and  that  taking  any  rent  from 
his  poor  tenant,  for  what  God  suffered  him  not  to  enjoy,  though  the 
law  allowed  him  to  do  so,  yet  if  he  did  so,  he  was  too  like  that  rich 
steward  which  he  had  mentioned  to  him;  and  told  him  that  riches 
so  gotten,  and  added  to  his  great  estate,  would,  as  Job  says,  "prove 
like  gravel  in  his  teeth:"  would  in  time  so  corrode  his  conscience, 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  145 

or  become  so  nauseous  when  he  lay  upon  his  death-bed,  that  he 
would  then  labour  to  vomit  it  up,  and  not  be  able :  and  therefore 
advised  him,  being  very  rich,  to  make  friends  of  his  unrighteous 
Mammon,  before  that  evil  day  come  upon  him:  but  however, 
neither  for  his  own  sake,  nor  for  God's  sake,  to  take  any  rent  of  his 
poor,  dejected,  sad  tenant;  for  that  were  to  gain  a  temporal,  and 
lose  his  eternal  happiness.  These,  and  other  such  reasons  were 
urged  with  so  grave  and  compassionate  an  earnestness,  that  the 
landlord  forgave  his  tenant  the  whole  rent. 

The  reader  will  easily  believe  that  Dr.  Sanderson,  who  was  so 
meek  and  merciful,  did  suddenly  and  gladly  carry  this  comfortable 
news  to  the  dejected  tenant;  and  we  believe,  that  at  the  telling  of  it 
there  was  mutual  rejoicing.  It  was  one  of  Job's  boasts,  that  "he 
had  seen  none  perish  for  want  of  clothing :  and  that  he  had  often 
made  the  heart  of  the  widow  to  rejoice"  (Job  xxxi.  19).  And 
doubtless  Dr.  Sanderson  might  have  made  the  same  religious  boast 
of  this  and  very  many  like  occasions.  But,  since  he  did  not,  I  re- 
joice that  I  have  this  just  occasion  to  do  it  for  him ;  and  that  I  can 
tell  the  reader,  I  might  tire  myself  and  him,  in  telling  how  like  the 
whole  course  of  Dr.  Sanderson's  life  was  to  this  which  I  have 
now  related. 

Thus  he  went  on  in  an  obscure  and  quiet  privacy,  doing  good 
daily  both  by  word  and  by  deed,  as  often  as  any  occasion  offered 
itself;  yet  not  so  obscurely,  but  that  his  very  great  learning,  pru- 
dence, and  piety,  were  much  noted  and  valued  by  the  bishop  of  his 
diocese,  and  by  most  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  that  county.  By 
the  first  of  which  he  was  often  summoned  to  preach  many  visitation 
sermons,  and  by  the  latter  at  many  assizes.  Which  sermons,  though 
they  were  much  esteemed  by  them  that  procured,  and  were  fit  to 
judge  them;  yet  they  were  the  less  valued,  because  he  read  them, 
which  he  was  forced  to  do;  for  though  he  had  an  extraordinary 
memory,  —  even  the  art  of  it,  —  yet  he  had  such  an  innate  in- 
vincible fear  and  bashfulness,  that  his  memory  was  wholly  useless, 
as  to  the  repetition  of  his  sermons  as  he  had  writ  them ;  which  gave 
occasion  to  say,  when  they  were  first  printed  and  exposed  to  cen- 
sure, which  was  in  the  year  1632,  —  "that  the  best  sermons  that 
were  ever  read  were  never  preached. " 

In  this  contented  obscurity  he   continued,  till  the  learned  and 


146  IZAAK   WALTON 

good  Archbishop  Laud,  who  knew  him  well  in  Oxford,  —  for  he  was 
his  contemporary  there,  —  told  the  King  —  'twas  the  knowing  and 
conscientious  King  Charles  the  First  —  that  there  was  one  Mr.  San- 
derson, an  obscure  country  minister,  that  was  of  such  sincerity,  and 
so  excellent  in  all  casuistical  learning,  that  he  desired  his  Majesty 
would  make  him  his  chaplain.  The  King  granted  it  most  will- 
ingly, and  gave  the  Bishop  charge  to  hasten  it,  for  he  had  longed 
to  discourse  with  a  man  that  had  dedicated  his  studies  to  that 
useful  part  of  learning.  The  Bishop  forgot  not  the  King's  desire, 
and  Mr.  Sanderson  was  made  his  Chaplain  in  Ordinary  in  No- 
vember following,  1631.  And  when  they  became  known  to  each 
other,  the  King  did  put  many  cases  of  conscience  to  him,  and 
received  from  him  such  deliberate,  safe,  and  clear  solutions, 
as  gave  him  great  content  in  conversing  with  him;  so  that,  at 
the  end  of  his  month's  attendance,  the  King  told  him,  "  he  should 
long  for  the  next  November;  for  he  resolved  to  have  a  more  in- 
ward acquaintance  with  him,  when  that  month  and  he  returned." 
And  when  the  month  and  he  did  return,  the  good  King  was 
never  absent  from  his  sermons,  and  would  usually  say,  "I 
carry  my  ears  to  hear  other  preachers;  but  I  carry  my  con- 
science to  hear  Mr.  Sanderson,  and  to  act  accordingly. "  And  this 
ought  not  to  be  concealed  from  posterity,  that  the  King  thought 
what  he  spake ;  for  he  took  him  to  be  his  adviser  in  that  quiet  part 
of  his  life,  and  he  proved  to  be  his  comforter  in  those  days  of  his 
affliction,  when  he  apprehended  himself  to  be  in  danger  of  death  or 
deposing.  Of  which  more  hereafter. 

In  the  first  Parliament  of  this  good  King,  —  which  was  1625, 
—  he  was  chosen  to  be  a  Clerk  of  the  Convocation  for  the  Diocese 
of  Lincoln ;  which  I  here  mention,  because  about  that  time  did  arise 
many  disputes  about  predestination,  and  the  many  critical  points 
that  depend  upon,  or  are  interwoven  in  it;  occasioned  as  was  said, 
by  a  disquisition  of  new  principles  of  Mr.  Calvin's,  though  others 
say  they  were  before  his  time.  But  of  these  Dr.  Sanderson  then 
drew  up,  for  his  own  satisfaction,  such  a  scheme  —  he  called  it 
Pax  EcclesicR  —  as  then  gave  himself,  and  hath  since  given  others, 
such  satisfaction,  that  it  still  remains  to  be  of  great  estimation 
among  the  most  learned.  He  was  also  chosen  Clerk  of  all  the  Con- 
vocations during  that  good  King's  reign.  Which  I  here  tell  my 


THE   LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  147 

reader,  because  I  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  mention  that  Con- 
vocation in  1640,  the  unhappy  Long  Parliament,  and  some  debates 
of  the  predestination  points  as  they  have  been  since  charitably 
handled  betwixt  him,  the  learned  Dr.  Hammond,  and  Dr.  Pierce, 
the  now  Reverend  Dean  of  Salisbury. 

In  the  year  1636,  his  Majesty,  then  in  his  progress,  took  a  fair 
occasion  to,visit  Oxford,  and  to  take  an  entertainment  for  two  days 
for  himself  and  honourable  attendants;  which  the  reader  ought  to 
believe  was  suitable  to  their  dignities.  But  this  is  mentioned, 
because  at  the  King's  coming  thither,  Dr.  Sanderson  did  attend  him, 
and  was  then  —  the  3ist  of  August — created  Doctor  of  Divinity; 
which  honour  had  an  addition  to  it,  by  having  many  of  the  nobility 
of  this  nation  then  made  Doctors  and  Masters  of  Arts  with  him; 
some  of  whose  names  shall  be  recorded  and  live  with  his,  and  none 
shall  outlive  it.  First,  Dr.  Curie  and  Dr.  Wren,  who  were  then 
Bishops  of  Winton  and  of  Norwich,  —  and  had  formerly  taken  their 
degrees  in  Cambridge,  were  with  him  created  Doctors  of  Divinity 
in  his  University.  So  was  Meric,  the  son  of  the  learned  Isaac 
Casaubon;  and  Prince  Rupert,  who  still  lives,  the  then  Duke  of 
Lenox,  Earl  of  Hereford,  Earl  of  Essex,  of  Berkshire,  and  very 
many  others  of  noble  birth  —  too  many  to  be  named  —  were  then 
created  Masters  of  Arts. 

Some  years  before  the  unhappy  Long  Parliament,  this  nation 
being  then  happy  and  in  peace,  —  though  inwardly  sick  of  being 
well, —  namely,  in  the  year  1639,  a  discontented  party  of  the  Scots 
Church  were  zealously  restless  for  another  reformation  of  their 
Kirk  government;  and  to  that  end  created  a  new  Covenant,  for 
the  general  taking  of  which  they  pretended  to  petition  the  King 
for  his  assent,  and  that  he  would  enjoin  the  taking  of  it  by  all 
of  that  nation.  But  this  petition  was  not  to  be  presented  to  him 
by  a  committee  of  eight  or  ten  men  of  their  fraternity;  but  by 
so  many  thousands,  and  they  so  armed  as  seemed  to  force  an 
assent  to  what  they  seemed  to  request ;  so  that  though  forbidden  by 
the  King,  yet  they  entered  England,  and  in  the  heat  of  zeal  took  and 
plundered  Newcastle,  where  the  King  was  forced  to  meet  them  with 
an  army :  but  upon  a  treaty  and  some  concessions,  he  sent  them  back, 
—  though  not  so  rich  as  they  intended,  yet, — for  that  time,  without 
bloodshed.  But,  oh !  this  peace,  and  this  Covenant,  were  but  the 


148  IZAAK  WALTON 

forerunners  of  war,  and  the  many  miseries  that  followed :  for  in  the 
year  following  there  were  so  many  chosen  into  the  Long  Parliament, 
that  were  of  a  conjunct  council  with  these  very  .zealous  and  as  fac- 
tious reformers,  as  begot  such  a  confusion  by  the  several  desires  and 
designs  in  many  of  the  members  of  that  Parliament,  and  at  last  in 
the  very  common  people  of  this  nation,  that  they  were  so  lost  by 
contrary  designs,  fears,  and  confusions,  as  to  believe  the  Scots  and 
their  Covenant  would  restore  them  to  their  former  tranquillity.  And 
to  that  end  the  Presbyterian  party  of  this  nation  did  again,  in  the 
year  1643,  invite  the  Scotch  Covenanters  back  into  England:  and 
hither  they  came  marching  with  it  gloriously  upon  their  pikes  and 
in  their  hats,  with  this  motto :  "  For  the  Crown  and  Covenant  of 
both  Kingdoms. "  This  I  saw,  and  suffered  by  it.  But  when  I  look 
back  upon  the  ruin  of  families,  the  bloodshed,  the  decay  of  common 
honesty,  and  how  the  former  piety  and  plain  dealing  of  this  now 
sinful  nation  is  turned  into  cruelty  and  cunning,  I  praise  God  that 
he  prevented  me  from  being  of  that  party  which  helped  to  bring  in 
this  Covenant,  and  those  sad  confusions  that  have  followed  it.  And 
I  have  been  the  bolder  to  say  this  to  myself,  because  in  a  sad  dis- 
course with  Dr.  Sanderson,  I  heard  him  make  the  like  grateful 
acknowledgment. 

This  digression  is  intended  for  the  better  information  of  the 
reader  in  what  will  follow  concerning  Dr.  Sanderson.  And  first, 
that  the  Covenanters  of  this  nation,  and  their  party  in  Parliament, 
made  many  exceptions  against  the  Common  Prayer  and  ceremonies 
of  the  Church  and  seemed  restless  for  a  reformation :  and  though 
their  desires  seemed  not  reasonable  to  the  King,  and  the  learned 
Dr.  Laud,  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury;  yet,  to  quiet  their  con- 
sciences, and  prevent  future  confusion,  they  did,  in  the  year  1641, 
desire  Dr.  Sanderson  to  call  two  more  of  the  Convocation  to  advise 
with  him,  and  that  he  would  then  draw  up  some  such  safe  alterations 
as  he  thought  fit  in  the  service-book,  and  abate  some  of  the  cere- 
monies that  were  least  material  for  satisfying  their  consciences:  — 
and  to  this  end  they  did  meet  together  privately  twice  a  week  at  the 
Dean  of  Westminster's  house,  for  the  space  of  three  months  or  more. 
But  not  long  after  that  time,  when  Dr.  Sanderson  had  made  the 
reformation  ready  for  a  view,  the  Church  and  State  were  both 
fallen  into  such  a  confusion,  that  Dr.  Sanderson's  model  for  refor- 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  149 

mation  became  then  useless.  Nevertheless,  his  reputation  was  such, 
that  he  was,  in  the  year  1642,  proposed  by  both  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment to  the  King,  then  in  Oxford,  to  be  one  of  their  trustees  for 
the  settling  of  Church  affairs,  and  was  allowed  of  by  the  King  to 
be  so :  but  that  treaty  came  to  nothing. 

In  the  year  1643,  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament  took  upon  them 
to  make  an  ordinance,  and  call  an  assembly  of  divines,  to  debate  and 
settle  some  Church  controversies,  of  which  many  were  unfit  to  judge ; 
in  which  Dr.  Sanderson  was  also  named,  but  did  not  appear;  I 
suppose  for  the  same  reason  that  many  other  worthy  and  learned 
men  did  forbear,  the  summons  wanting  the  King's  authority.  And 
here  I  must  look  back,  and  tell  the  reader,  that  in  the  year  1642,  he 
was,  July  2ist,  named  by  a  more  undoubted  authority  to  a  more 
noble  employment,  which  was  to  be  Professor  Regius  of  Divinity 
in  Oxford :  but,  though  knowledge  be  said  to  puff  up,  yet  his  mod- 
esty and  too  mean  an  opinion  of  his  great  abilities,  and  some  other 
real  or  pretended  reasons,  —  expressed  in  his  speech,  when  he  first 
appeared  in  the  Chair,  and  since  printed,  —  kept  him  from  enter- 
ing into  it  till  October,  1646. 

He  did,  for  about  a  year's  time,  continue  to  read  his  matchless 
lectures,  which  were  first  de  Juramento,  a  point  very  difficult,  and 
at  that  time  very  dangerous  to  be  handled  as  it  ought  to  be.  But 
this  learned  man,  as  he  was  eminently  furnished  with  abilities  to 
satisfy  the  consciences  of  men  upon  that  important  subject ;  so  he 
wanted  not  courage  to  assert  the  true  obligation  of  oaths  in  a  degen- 
erate age,  when  men  had  made  perjury  a  main  part  of  their  religion. 
How  much  the  learned  world  stands  obliged  to  him  for  these,  and 
his  following  lectures  de  Conscientid,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  declare, 
as  being  very  sensible  that  the  best  pens  must  needs  fall  short  in  the 
commendation  of  them:  so  that  I  shall  only  add,  that  they  con- 
tinued to  this  day,  and  will  do  for  ever,  as  a  complete  standard  for 
the  resolution  of  the  most  material  doubts  in  casuistical  divinity. 
And  therefore  I  proceed  to  tell  the  reader,  that  about  the  time  of 
his  reading  those  lectures,  —  the  King  being  then  prisoner  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  —  the  Parliament  had  sent  the  Covenant, 
the  Negative  Oath,  and  I  know  not  what  more,  to  be  taken  by 
the  Doctor  of  the  Chair,  and  all  heads  of  houses;  and  all  other 
inferior  scholars,  of  what  degree  soever,  were  all  to  take  these  oaths 


150  IZAAK  WALTON 

by  a  fixed  day ;  and  those  that  did  not,  to  abandon  their  college 
and  the  university  too,  within  twenty-four  hours  after  the  beating 
of  a  drum ;  for  if  they  remained  longer,  they  were  to  be  proceeded 
against  as  spies. 

Dr.  Laud,  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  Earl  of  Strafford, 
and  many  others,  had  been  formerly  murdered  by  this  wicked 
Parliament;  but  the  King  yet  was  not:  and  the  university  had 
yet  some  faint  hopes  that  in  a  treaty  then  in  being,  or  pretended 
to  be  suddenly,  there  might  be  such  an  agreement  made  between 
King  and  Parliament,  that  the  dissenters  in  the  university  might 
both  preserve  their  consciences  and  subsistence  which  they  then 
enjoyed  by  their  colleges. 

And  being  possessed  of  this  mistaken  hope,  that  the  Parliament 
were  not  yet  grown  so*  merciless  as  not  to  allow  manifest  reason 
for  their  not  submitting  to  the  enjoined  oaths,  the  university 
appointed  twenty  delegates  to  meet,  consider,  and  draw  up  a 
manifesto  to  the  Parliament,  why  they  could  not  take  those  oaths 
but  by  violation  of  their  consciences:  and  of  these  delegates  Dr. 
Sheldon,  —  late  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  —  Dr.  Hammond,  Dr. 
Sanderson,  Dr.  Morley,  —  now  Bishop  of  Winchester,  —  and  that 
most  honest  and  as  judicious  civil  lawyer,  Dr.  Zouch,  were  a  part; 
the  rest  I  cannot  now  name :  but  the  whole  number  of  the  dele- 
gates requested  Dr.  Zouch  to  draw  up  the  law  part,  and  give  it  to 
Dr.  Sanderson:  and  he  was  requested  to  methodise  and  add 
what  referred  to  reason  and  conscience,  and  put  into  form.  He 
yielded  to  their  desires  and  did  so.  And  then,  after  they  had  been 
read  in  a  full  convocation,  and  allowed  of,  they  were  printed  in 
Latin,  that  the  Parliament's  proceedings  and  the  university's 
sufferings  might  be  manifested  to  all  nations:  and  the  imposers 
of  these  oaths  might  repent,  or  answer  them :  but  they  were  past  the 
first;  and  for  the  latter,  I  might  swear  they  neither  can,  nor  ever* 
will.  And  these  reasons  were  also  suddenly  turned  into  English 
by  Dr.  Sanjderson,  that  those  of  these  three  kingdoms  might 
the  better  judge  of  the  loyal  party's  sufferings. 

About  this  time  the  Independents  —  who  were  then  grown 
to  be  the  most  powerful  part  of  the  army  —  had  taken  the  King 
from  a  close  to  a  more  large  imprisonment;  and,  by  their  own 
pretences  to  liberty  of  conscience,  were  obliged  to  allow  some- 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  151 

what  of  that  to  the  King,  who  had,  in  the  year  1646,  sent  for 
Dr.  Sanderson,  Dr.  Hammond,  Dr.  Sheldon,  —  the  late  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  —  and  Dr.  Morley,  —  the  now  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  —  to  attend  him,  in  order  to  advise  with  them,  how 
far  he  might  with  a  good  conscience  comply  with  the  proposals 
of  the  Parliament  for  a  peace  in  Church  and  State:  but  these, 
having  been  then  denied  him  by  the  Presbyterian  Parliament, 
were  now  allowed  him  by  those  in  present  power.  And  as  those 
other  divines,  so  Dr.  Sanderson  gave  his  attendance  on  his  Majesty 
also  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  preached  there  before  him,  and  had  in 
that  attendance  many,  both  public  and  private,  conferences  with 
him,  to  his  Majesty's  great  satisfaction.  At  which  time  he  desired 
Dr.  Sanderson,  that,  being  the  Parliament  had  proposed  to  him 
the  abolishing  of  episcopal  government  in  the  Church,  as  inconsist- 
ent with  monarchy,  that  he  would  consider  of  it;  and  declare 
his  judgment.  He  undertook  to  do  so,  and  did  it ;  but  it  might  not 
be  printed  till  our  King's  happy  restoration,  and  then  it  was.  And 
at  Dr.  Sanderson's  taking  his  leave  of  his  Majesty  in  his  last 
attendance  on  him,  the  King  requested  him  to  betake  himself 
to  the  writing  cases  of  conscience  for  the  good  of  posterity.  To 
which  his  answer  was,  "That  he  was  now  grown  old,  and  unfit 
to  write  cases  of  conscience."  But  the  King  was  so  bold  with 
him  as  to  say,  "It  was  the  simplest  answer  he  ever  heard  from 
Dr.  Sanderson ;  for  no  young  man  was  fit  to  be  a  judge,  or  write 
cases  of  conscience."  And  let  me  here  take  occasion  to  tell  the 
reader  this  truth,  not  commonly  known;  that  in  one  of  these  con- 
ferences this  conscientious  King  told  Dr.  Sanderson,  or  one  of  them 
that  then  waited  with  him, "  that  the  remembrance  of  two  errors  did 
much  afflict  him ;  which  were,  his  assent  to  the  Earl  of  Straff ord's 
death,  and  the  abolishing  Episcopacy  in  Scotland ;  and  that  if  God 
ever  restored  him  to  be  in  a  peaceable  possession  of  his  crown,  he 
would  demonstrate  his  repentance  by  a  public  confession,  and  a 
voluntary  penance,"  —  I  think  barefoot  —  from  the  Tower  of 
London,  or  Whitehall,  to  St.  Paul's  Church,  and  desire  the  people 
to  intercede  with  God  for  his  pardon.  I  am  sure  one  of  them 
that  told  it  me  lives  still,  and  will  witness  it.  And  it  ought  to  be 
observed,  that  Dr.  Sanderson's  lectures  de  Juramento  were  so  ap- 
proved and  valued  by  the  King,  that  in  this  time  of  his  imprison- 


I$2  1ZAAK   WALTON 

ment  and  solitude  he  translated  them  into  exact  English ;  desiring 
Dr.  Juxon,  —  then  Bishop  of  London,  —  Dr.  Hammond,  and  Sir 
Thomas  Herbert,  who  then  attended  him,  to  compare  them  with 
the  original.  The  last  still  lives,  and  has  declared  it,  with  some 
other  of  that  King's  excellencies,  in  a  letter  under  his  own  hand, 
which  was  lately  showed  me  by  Sir  William  Dugdale,  King  at 
Arms.  The  book  was  designed  to  be  put  into  the  King's  library 
at  St.  James's;  but,  I  doubt,  not  now  to  be  found  there.  I 
thought  the  honour  of  the  author  and  the  translator  to  be  both 
so  much  concerned  in  this  relation,  that  it  ought  not  to  be 
concealed  from  the  reader,  and  'tis  therefore  here  inserted. 

I  now  return  to  Dr.  Sanderson  in  the  Chair  in  Oxford ;  where 
they  that  complied  not  in  taking  the  Covenant,  Negative  Oath, 
and  Parliament  Ordinance  for  Church  discipline  and  worship, 
were  under  a  sad  and  daily  apprehension  of  expulsion :  for  the 
visitors  were  daily  expected,  and  both  city  and  university  full  of 
soldiers,  and  a  party  of  Presbyterian  divines,  that  were  as  greedy 
and  ready  to  possess,  as  the  ignorant  and  ill-natured  visitors  were 
to  eject  the  dissenters  out  of  their  colleges  and  livelihoods:  but, 
notwithstanding,  Dr.  Sanderson  did  still  continue  to  read  his 
lecture,  and  did,  to  the  very  faces  of  those  Presbyterian  divines 
and  soldiers,  read  with  so  much  reason,  and  with  a  calm  fortitude 
make  such  applications,  as,  if  they  were  not,  they  ought  to  have 
been  ashamed,  and  begged  pardon  of  God  and  him,  and  forborne  to 
do  what  followed.  But  these  thriving  sinners  were  hardened; 
and  as  the  visitors  expelled  the  orthodox,  they,  without  scruple  or 
shame,  possessed  themselves  of  their  colleges;  so  that,  with  the 
rest,  Dr.  Sanderson  was  in  June,  1648,  forced  to  pack  up  and  be 
gone,  and  thank  God  he  was  not  imprisoned,  as  Dr.  Sheldon,  and 
Dr.  Hammond,  and  others  then  were. 

I  must  now  again  look  back  to  Oxford,  and  tell  my  reader, 
that  the  year  before  this  expulsion,  when  the  university  had 
denied  this  subscription,  and  apprehended  the  danger  of  that 
visitation  which  followed,  they  sent  Dr.  Morley,  then  Canon  of 
Christ  Church,  now  Lord  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  others,  to 
petition  the  Parliament  for  recalling  the  injunction,  or  a  mitiga- 
tion of  it,  or  accept  of  their  reasons  why  they  could  not  take  the 
oaths  enjoined  them ;  and  the  petition  was  by  Parliament  referred 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  153 

to  a  committee  to  hear  and  report  the  reasons  to  the  House,  and  a 
day  set  for  hearing  them.  This  done,  Dr.  Morley  and  the  rest 
went  to  inform  and  see  counsel,  to  plead  their  cause  on  the  day 
appointed;  but  there  had  been  so  many  committed  for  pleading, 
that  none  durst  undertake  it ;  for  at  this  time  the  privileges  of  that 
Parliament  were  become  a  Noli  me  tangere,  as  sacred  and  useful 
to  them,  as  traditions  ever  were,  or  are  now,  to  the  Church  of 
Rome ;  their  number  must  never  be  known,  and  therefore  not  with- 
out danger  to  be  meddled  with.  For  which  reason  Dr.  Morley  was 
forced,  for  want  of  counsel,  to  plead  the  university's  reasons  for 
non-compliance  with  the  Parliament's  injunctions:  and  though 
this  was  done  with  great  reason,  and  a  boldness  equal  to  the 
justice  of  his  cause ;  yet  the  effect  of  it  was,  but  that  he  and  the 
rest  appearing  with  him  were  so  fortunate  as  to  return  to  Oxford 
without  commitment.  This  was  some  few  days  before  the  vis- 
itors and  more  soldiers  were  sent  down  to  drive  the  Dissenters 
out  of  the  university.  And  one  that  was,  at  this  time  of  Dr. 
Morley's  pleading,  a  powerful  man  in  the  Parliament,  and  of 
that  committee,  observing  Dr.  Morley's  behaviour  and  reason, 
and  inquiring  of  him  and  hearing  a  good  report  of  his  morals, 
was  therefore  willing  to  afford  him  a  peculiar  favour;  and,  that 
he  might  express  it,  sent  for  me  that  relate  this  story,  and  knew 
Dr.  Morley  well,  and  told  me,  "he  had  such  a  love  for  Dr.  Morley, 
that  knowing  he  would  not  take  the  oaths,  and  must  therefore  be 
ejected  his  college,  and  leave  Oxford ;  he  desired  I  would  therefore 
write  to  him  to  ride  out  of  Oxford,  when  the  visitors  came  into  it, 
and  not  return  till  they  left  it,  and  he  should  be  sure  then  to  return 
in  safety;  and  that  he  should,  without  taking  any  oath  or  other 
molestation,  enjoy  his  canon's  place  in  his  college."  I  did  receive 
this  intended  kindness  with  a  sudden  gladness,  because  I  was  sure 
the  party  had  a  power,  and  as  sure  he  meant  to  perform  it,  and 
did  therefore  write  the  Doctor  word :  and  his  answer  was,  that  I 
must  not  fail  to  return  my  friend  —  who  still  lives  —  his  humble 
and  undissembled  thanks,  though  he  could  not  accept  of  his 
intended  kindness ;  for  when  the  Dean,  Dr.  Gardner,  Dr.  Paine, 
Dr.  Hammond,  Dr.  Sanderson  and  all  the  rest  of  the  college  were 
turned  out,  except  Dr.  Wall,  he  should  take  it  to  be,  if  not  a  sin, 
yet  a  shame,  to  be  left  behind  with  him  only.  Dr.  Wall  I  knew, 
and  will  speak  nothing  of  him,  for  he  is  dead. 


154  IZAAK   WALTON 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  with  what  a  joyful  willingness  these 
self-loving  reformers  took  possession  of  all  vacant  preferments, 
and  with  what  reluctance  others  parted  with  their  beloved  colleges 
and  subsistence:  but  their  consciences  were  dearer  than  their 
subsistence,  and  out  they  went;  the  reformers  possessing  them 
without  shame  or  scruple :  where  I  leave  these  scruple-mongers, 
and  make  an  account  of  the  then  present  affairs  of  London,  to 
be  the  next  employment  of  my  reader's  patience. 

And  in  London  all  the  bishop's  houses  were  turned  to  be  prisons, 
and  they  filled  with  divines,  that  would  not  take  the  Covenant, 
or  forbear  reading  Common  Prayer,  or  that  were  accused  for  some 
faults  like  these.  For  it  may  be  noted,  that  about  this  time  the 
Parliament  set  out  a  proclamation,  to  encourage  all  laymen  that 
had  occasion  to  complain  of  their  ministers  for  being  troublesome  or 
scandalous,  or  that  conformed  not  to  orders  of  Parliament,  to  make 
their  complaint  to  a  committee  for  that  purpose ;  and  the  minister, 
though  a  hundred  miles  from  London,  should  appear  there,  and 
give  satisfaction,  or  be  sequestered ;  —  and  you  may  be  sure  no 
parish  could  want  a  covetous,  or  malicious,  or  cross-grained 
complaint;  —  by  which  means  all  prisons  in  London,  and  in 
some  other  places,  became  the  sad  habitations  of  conforming 
divines. 

And  about  this  time  the  Bishop  of  Canterbury  having  been 
by  an  unknown  law  condemned  to  die,  and  the  execution  sus- 
pended for  some  days,  many  of  the  malicious  citizens,  fearing  his 
pardon,  shut  up  their  shops,  professing  not  to  open  them  till 
justice  was  executed.  This  malice  and  madness  is  scarce  credible ; 
but  I  saw  it. 

The  bishops  had  been  voted  out  of  the  House  of  Parliament, 
and  some  upon  that  occasion  sent  to  the  Tower:  which  made 
many  Covenanters  rejoice,  and  believe  Mr.  Brightman  —  who 
probably  was  a  good  and  well-meaning  man  —  to  be  inspired  in 
his  Comment  on  the  Apocalypse,  an  abridgment  of  which  was 
now  printed,  and  called  Mr.  Brightman's  Revelation  of  the  Revela- 
tion. And  though  he  was  grossly  mistaken  in  other  things,  yet, 
because  he  had  made  the  Churches  of  Geneva  and  Scotland,  which 
had  no  bishops,  to  be  Philadelphia  in  the  Apocalypse,  the  angel 
that  God  loved  (Rev.  iii.  7-13),  and  the  power  of  prelacy  to  be 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.  ROBERT  SANDERSON  155 

Anti-christ,  the  evil  angel,  which  the  House  of  Commons  had  now 
so  spewed  up,  as  never  to  recover  their  dignity;  therefore  did  those 
Covenanters  approve  and  applaud  Mr.  Brightman  for  discovering 
and  foretelling  the  bishops'  downfall;  so  that  they  both  railed  at 
them,  and  rejoiced  to  buy  good  pennyworths  of  their  land,  which 
their  friends  of  the  House  of  Commons  did  afford  them,  as  a 
reward  of  their  diligent  assistance  to  pull  them  down. 

And  the  bishop's  power  being  now  vacated,  the  common 
people  were  made  so  happy,  as  every  parish  might  choose  their 
own  minister,  and  tell  him  when  he  did,  and  when  he  did  not, 
preach  true  doctrine :  and  by  this  and  like  means,  several  churches 
had  several  teachers,  that  prayed  and  preached  for  and  against 
one  another:  and  engaged  their  hearers  to  contend  furiously 
for  truths  which  they  understood  not ;  some  of  which  I  shall  men- 
tion in  the  discourse  that  follows. 

I  have  heard  of  two  men,  that  in  their  discourse  undertook 
to  give  a  character  of  a  third  person :  and  one  concluded  he  was 
a  very  honest  man,  "for  he  was  beholden  to  him; "  and  the  other 
that  he  was  not,  "for  he  was  not  beholden  to  him."  And  some- 
thing like  this  was  in  the  designs  both  of  the  Covenanters  and 
Independents,  the  last  of  which  were  now  grown  both  as  numerous 
and  as  powerful  as  the  former :  for  though  they  differed  much  in 
many  principles,  and  preached  against  each  other,  one  making 
it  a  sign  of  being  in  the  state  of  grace,  if  we  were  but  zealous  for 
the  Covenant ;  and  the  other,  that  we  ought  to  buy  and  sell  by  a 
measure,  and  to  allow  the  same  liberty  of  conscience  to  others, 
which  we  by  scripture  claim  to  ourselves;  and  therefore  not  to 
force  any  to  swear  the  Covenant  contrary  to  their  consciences, 
and  lose  both  their  livings  and  liberties  too.  Though  these  differed 
thus  in  their  conclusions,  yet  they  both  agreed  in  their  practice  to 
preach  down  Common  Prayer,  and  get  into  the  best  sequestered 
livings;  and  whatever  became  of  the  true  owners,  their  wives 
and  children,  yet  to  continue  in  them  without  the  least  scruple 
of  conscience. 

They  also  made  other  strange  observations  of  Election,  Reproba- 
tion, and  Free  Will,  and  the  other  points  dependent  upon  these; 
such  as  the  wisest  of  the  common  people  were  not  fit  to  judge  of; 
I  am  sure  I  am  not :  though  I  must  mention  some  of  them  histon- 


156  IZAAK  WALTON 

cally  in  a  more  proper  place,  when  I  have  brought  my  reader  with  me 
to  Dr.  Sanderson  at  Boothby  Pannell. 

And  in  the  way  thither  I  must  tell  him,  that  a  very  Covenanter, 
and  a  Scot  too,  that  came  into  England  with  his  unhappy  Covenant, 
was  got  into  a  good  sequestered  living  by  the  help  of  a  Presbyterian 
parish,  which  had  got  the  true  owner  out.  And  this  Scotch 
Presbyterian,  being  well  settled  in  this  good  living,  began  to  reform 
the  churchyard,  by  cutting  down  a  large  yew-tree,  and  some  other 
trees  that  were  an  ornament  to  the  place,  and  very  often  a  shelter  to 
the  parishioners;  who,  excepting  against  him  for  so  doing,  were 
answered,  "That  the  trees  were  his,  and  'twas  lawful  for  every  man 
to  use  his  own,  as  he,  and  not  as  they  thought  fit."  I  have  heard, 
but  do  not  affirm  it',  that  no  action  lies  against  him  that  is  so  wicked 
as  to  steal  the  winding-sheet  of  a  dead  body  after  it  is  buried ;  and 
have  heard  the  reason  to  be,  because  none  were  supposed  to  be 
so  void  of  humanity;  and  that  such  a  law  would  vilify  that  nation 
that  would  but  suppose  so  vile  a  man  to  be  born  in  it :  nor  would 
one  suppose  any  man  to  do  what  this  Covenanter  did.  And 
whether  there  were  any  law  against  him,  I  know  not;  but  pity  the 
parish  the  less  for  turning  out  their  legal  minister. 

We  have  now  overtaken  Dr.  Sanderson  at  Boothby  Parish, 
where  he  hoped  to  enjoy  himself,  though  in  a  poor,  yet  in  a  quiet 
and  desired  privacy;  but  it  proved  otherwise;  for  all  corners  of  the 
nation  were  filled  with  Covenanters,  confusion,  committee-men,  and 
soldiers,  serving  each  other  to  their  several  ends,  of  revenge,  or 
power,  or  profit :  and  these  committee-men  and  soldiers  were  most 
of  them  so  possessed  with  this  Covenant,  that  they  became  like 
those  that  were  infected  with  that  dreadful  plague  of  Athens ;  the 
plague  of  which  plague  was,  that  they  by  it  became  maliciously 
restless  to  get  into  company,  and  to  joy,  —  so  the  historian  saith,  — 
when  they  had  infected  others,  even  those  of  their  most  beloved 
or  nearest  friends  or  relations :  and  though  there  might  be  some  of 
these  Covenanters  that  were  beguiled  and  meant  well ;  yet  such  were 
the  generality  of  them,  and  temper  of  the  times,  that  you  may 
be  sure  Dr.  Sanderson,  who  though  quiet  and  harmless,  yet  an 
eminent  dissenter  from  them,  could  not  live  peaceably;  nor  did 
he;  for  the  soldiers  would  appear,  and  visibly  disturb  him  in 
the  church  when  he  read  prayers,  pretending  to  advise  him  how 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  157 

God  was  to  be  served  most  acceptably :  which  he  not  approving, 
but  continuing  to  observe  order  and  decent  behaviour  in  reading 
the  Church  service,  they  forced  his  book  from  him,  and  tore  it, 
expecting  extemporary  prayers. 

At  this  time  he  was  advised  by  a  Parliament  man  of  power 
and  note,  that  valued  and  loved  him  much,  not  to  be  strict  in 
reading  all  the  Common  Prayer,  but  make  some  little  variation, 
especially  if  the  soldiers  came  to  watch  him;  for  then  it  might  not 
be  in  the  power  of  him  and  his  other  friends  to  secure  him  from 
taking  the  Covenant,  or  sequestration :  for  which  reasons  he  did 
vary  somewhat  from  the  strict  rules  of  the  rubric.  I  will  set 
down  the  very  words  of  confession  which  he  used,  as  I  have  it  under 
his  own  hand ;  and  tell  the  reader,  that  all  his  other  variations  were 
as  little,  and  much  like  to  this. 


HIS  CONFESSION 

"O  Almighty  God  and  merciful  Father,  we,  thy  unworthy 
servants,  do  with  shame  and  sorrow  confess,  that  we  have  all 
our  life  long  gone  astray  out  of  thy  ways  like  lost  sheep;  and 
that,  by  following  too  much  the  vain  devices  and  desires  of  our 
own  hearts,  we  have  grievously  offended  against  thy  holy  laws, 
both  in  thought,  word,  and  deed;  we  have  many  times  left  undone 
those  good  duties  which  we  might  and  ought  to  have  done;  and 
we  have  many  times  done  those  evils,  when  we  might  have  avoided 
them,  which  we  ought  not  to  have  done.  We  confess,  O  Lord ! 
that  there  is  no  health  at  all,  nor  help  in  any  creature  to  relieve 
us;  but  all  our  hope  is  in  thy  mercy,  whose  justice  we  have  by  our 
sins  so  far  provoked.  Have  mercy  therefore  upon  us,  O  Lord ! 
have  mercy  upon  us,  miserable  offenders :  spare  us,  good  God,  who 
confess  our  faults,  that  we  perish  not;  but,  according  to  thy 
gracious  promises  declared  unto  mankind  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord, 
restore  us  upon  our  true  repentance  into  thy  grace  and  favour. 
And  grant,  O  most  merciful  Father !  for  his  sake,  that  we  hence- 
forth study  to  serve  and  please  thee  by  leading  a  godly,  righteous,  and 
a  sober  life,  to  the  glory-  of  thy  holy  name,  and  the  eternal  comfort 
of  our  own  souls,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord."  Amen. 


158  IZAAK  WALTON 

In  these  disturbances  of  tearing  his  service-book,  a  neighbour 
came  on  a  Sunday,  after  the  evening  service  was  ended,  to  visit  and 
condole  with  him  for  the  affront  offered  by  the  soldiers.  To  whom 
he  spake  with  a  composed  patience,  and  said :  "  God  hath  restored 
me  to  my  desired  privacy,  with  my  wife  and  children ;  where  I  hoped 
to  have  met  with  quietness,  and  it  proves  not  so :  but  I  will  labour 
to  be  pleased,  because  God,  on  whom  I  depend,  sees  it  is  not  fit 
for  me  to  be  quiet.  I  praise  him,  that  he  hath  by  his  grace  pre- 
vented me  from  making  shipwreck  of  a  good  conscience  to  main- 
tain me  in  a  place  of  great  reputation  and  profit :  and  though  my 
condition  be  such,  that  I  need  the  last,  yet  I  submit;  for  God 
did  not  send  me  into,  this  world  to  do  my  own,  but  suffer  his 
will,  and  I  will  obey  it."  Thus  by  a  sublime  depending  on  his 
wise,  and  powerful,  and  pitiful  Creator,  he  did  cheerfully  sub- 
mit to  what  God  had  appointed,  justifying  the  truth  of  that 
doctrine  which  he  had  preached. 

About  this  time  that  excellent  book  of  The  King's  Meditations 
in  his  Solitude  was  printed  and  made  public ;  and  Dr.  Sanderson 
was  such  a  lover  of  the  author,  and  so  desirous  that  the  whole 
world  should  see  the  character  of  him  in  that  book,  and  some- 
thing of  the  cause  for  which  they  suffered,  that  he  designed  to  turn 
it  into  Latin:  but  when  he  had  done  half  of  it  most  excellently,  his 
friend  Dr.  Earle  prevented  him,  by  appearing  to  have  done  the 
whole  very  well  before  him. 

About  this  time  his  dear  and  most  intimate  friend,  the  learned 
Dr.  Hammond,  came  to  enjoy  a  conversation  and  rest  with  him 
for  some  days ;  and  did  so.  And  having  formerly  persuaded  him 
to  trust  his  excellent  memory,  and  not  read,  but  try  to  speak  a  ser- 
mon as  he  had  writ  it,  Dr.  Sanderson  became  so  compliant  as 
to  promise  he  would.  And  to  that  end  they  two  went  early  the 
Sunday  following  to  a  neighbour  minister,  and  requested  to  exchange 
a  sermon ;  and  they  did  so.  And  at  Dr.  Sanderson's  going  into  the 
pulpit,  he  gave  his  sermon  —  which  was  a  very  short  one  —  into 
the  hand  of  Dr.  Hammond,  intending  to  preach  it  as  it  was  writ : 
but  before  he  had  preached  a  third  part,  Dr.  Hammond  —  looking 
on  his  sermon  as  written  —  observed  him  to  be  out,  and  so  lost 
as  to  the  matter,  that  he  also  became  afraid  for  him ;  for  'twas  dis- 
cernible to  many  of  the  plain  auditory.  But  when  he  had  ended 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  159 

this  short  sermon,  as  they  two  walked  homeward,  Dr.  Sanderson 
said  with  much  earnestness,  "Good  Doctor,  give  me  my  sermon; 
and  know  that  neither  you  nor  any  man  living  shall  ever  persuade 
me  to  preach  again  without  my  books."  To  which  the  reply  was, 
"Good  Doctor,  be  not  angry:  for  if  I  ever  persuade  you  to  preach 
again  without  book,  I  will  give  you  leave  to  burn  all  those  that  I  am 
master  of." 

Part  of  the  occasion  of  Dr.  Hammond's  visit  was  at  this  time 
to  discourse  with  Dr.  Sanderson  about  some  opinions,  in  which, 
if  they  did  not  then,  they  had  doubtless  differed  formerly :  it  was 
about  those  knotty  points,  which  are  by  the  learned  called  the 
Quinquarticular  Controversy;  of  which  I  shall  proceed,  not  to 
give  any  judgment,  —  I  pretend  not  to  that,  —  but  some  short 
historical  account  which  shall  follow. 

There  had  been,  since  the  unhappy  Covenant  was  brought 
and  so  generally  taken  in  England,  a  liberty  given  or  taken  by 
many  preachers  —  those  of  London  especially  —  to  preach  and 
be  too  positive  in  the  points  of  Universal  Redemption,  Predestina- 
tion, and  those  others  depending  upon  these.  Some  of  which 
preached,  "That  all  men  were,  before  they  came  into  this  world, 
so  predestinated  to  salvation  or  damnation,  that  it  was  not  in  their 
power  to  sin  so,  as  to  lose  the  first,  nor  by  their  most  diligent  en- 
deavour to  avoid  the  latter.  Others,  that  it  was  not  so :  because 
then  God  could  not  be  said  to  grieve  for  the  death  of  a  sinner, 
when  he  himself  had  made  him  so  by  an  inevitable  decree,  before  he 
had  so  much  as  a  being  in  this  world;"  affirming  therefore,  "that 
man  had  some  power  left  him  to  do  the  will  of  God,  because  he  was 
advised  to  work  out  his  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling;" 
maintaining,  "that  it  is  most  certain  every  man  can  do  what  he 
can  to  be  saved;"  and  that  "he  that  does  what  he  can  to  be 
saved,  shall  never  be  damned."  And  yet  many  that  affirmed 
this  would  confess,  "That  that  grace,  which  is  but  a  persuasive 
offer,  and  left  to  us  to  receive,  or  refuse,  is  not  that  grace  which 
shall  bring  men  to  heaven."  Which  truths,  or  untruths,  or 
both,  be  they  which  they  will,  did  upon  these,  or  the  like' occasions, 
come  to  be  searched  into,  and  charitably  debated  betwixt  Dr.  San- 
derson, Dr.  Hammond,  and  Dr.  Pierce,  the  now  Reverend  Dean  of 
Salisbury,  —  of  which  I  shall  proceed  to  give  some  account,  but 
briefly. 


l6o  IZAAK   WALTON 

In  the  year  1648,  the  fifty- two  London  ministers  —  then  a 
fraternity  of  Sion  College  in  that  city  —  had  in  a  printed  declara- 
tion aspersed  Dr.  Hammond  most  heinously,  for  that  he  had  in  his 
Practical  Catechism  affirmed,  that  our  Saviour  died  for  the  sins  of  all 
mankind.  To  justify  which  truth,  he  presently  makes  a  charitable 
reply  —  as  'tis  now  printed  in  his  works.  After  which  there  were 
many  letters  passed  betwixt  the  said  Dr.  Hammond,  Dr.  Sanderson, 
and  Dr.  Pierce,  concerning  God's  grace  and  decrees.  Dr.  Sander- 
son was  with  much  unwillingness  drawn  into  this  debate;  for  he 
declared  it  would  prove  uneasy  to  him,  who  in  his  judgment  of  God's 
decrees  differed  with  Dr.  Hammond,  —  whom  he  reverenced 
and  loved  dearly,  —  .and  would  not  therefore  engage  him  into 
a  controversy  of  which  he  could  never  hope  to  see  an  end :  but  they 
did  all  enter  into  a  charitable  disquisition  of  these  said  points  in 
several  letters,  to  the  full  satisfaction  of  the  learned ;  those  be- 
twixt Dr.  Sanderson  and  Dr.  Hammond  being  printed  in  his 
works;  and  for  what  passed  betwixt  him  and  the  learned  Dr. 
Pierce,  I  refer  my  reader  to  a  letter  annexed  to  the  end  of  this 
relation. 

I  think  the  judgment  of  Dr.  Sanderson  was,  by  these  debates, 
altered  from  what  it  was  at  his  entrance  into  them;  for  in  the 
year  1632,  when  his  excellent  sermons  were  first  printed  in  quarto, 
the  reader  may  on  the  margin  find  some  accusation  of  Arminius 
for  false  doctrine;  and  find  that,  upon  a  review  and  reprinting 
those  sermons  in  folio,  in  the  year  1657,  that  accusation  of  Ar- 
minius is  omitted.  And  the  change  of  his  judgment  seems  more 
fully  to  appear  in  his  said  letter  to  Dr.  Pierce.  And  let  me  now  tell 
the  reader,  which  may  seem  to  be  perplexed  with  these  several 
affirmations  of  God's  decrees  before  mentioned,  that  Dr.  Hammond, 
in  a  postscript  to  the  last  letter  of  Dr.  Sanderson's,  says,  "  God  can 
reconcile  his  own  contradictions,  and  therefore  advises  all  men,  as 
the  apostle  does,  to  study  mortification,  and  be  wise  to  sobriety." 
And  let  me  add  further,  that  if  these  fifty-two  ministers  of  Sion 
College  were  the  occasion  of  the  debates  in  these  letters,  they 
have,  I  think,  been  the  occasion  of  giving  an  end  to  the  Quinquartic- 
ular  Controversy :  for  none  have  since  undertaken  to  say  more ; 
but  seem  to  be  so  wise,  as  to  be  content  to  be  ignorant  of  the  rest, 
till  they  come  to  that  place  where  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  shall  be 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  161 

laid  open.  And  let  me  here  tell  the  reader  also,  that  if  the  rest  of 
mankind  would,  as  Dr.  Sanderson,  not  conceal  their  alteration  of 
judgment,  but  confess  it  to  the  honour  of  God,  and  themselves, 
then  our  nation  would  become  freer  from  pertinacious  disputes, 
and  fuller  of  recantations. 

I  cannot  lead  my  reader  to  Dr.  Hammond  and  Dr.  Sanderson, 
where  we  left  them  at  Boothby  Pannell,  till  I  have  looked  back 
to  the  Long  Parliament,  the  Society  of  Covenanters  in  Sion  College, 
and  those  others  scattered  up  and  down  in  London,  and  given  some 
account  of  their  proceedings  and  usage  of  the  late  learned  Dr.  Laud, 
then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  And  though  I  will  forbear  to 
mention  the  injustice  of  his  death,  and  the  barbarous  usage  of 
him,  both  then  and  before  it;  yet  my  desire  is  that  what  follows 
may  be  noted,  because  it  does  now,  or  may  hereafter,  concern  us ; 
namely,  that  in  his  last  sad  sermon  on  the  scaffold  at  his  death,  he 
having  freely  pardoned  all  his  enemies,  and  humbly  begged 
of  God  to  pardon  them,  and  besought  those  present  to  pardon 
and  pray  for  him;  yet  he  seemed  to  accuse  the  magistrates  of 
the  city  for  suffering  a  sort  of  wretched  people,  that  could  not 
know  why  he  was  condemned,  to  go  visibly  up  and  down  to  gather 
hands  to  a  petition,  that  the  Parliament  would  hasten  his  execution. 
And  having  declared  how  unjustly  he  thought  himself  to  be  con- 
demned, and  accused  for  endeavouring  to  bring  in  Popery,  — 
for  that  was  one  of  the  accusations  for  which  he  died,  —  he  declared 
with  sadness,  "  That  the  several  sects  and  divisions  then  in  England 
—  which  he  had  laboured  to  prevent  —  were  like  to  bring  the 
Pope  a  far  greater  harvest  than  he  could  ever  have  expected  without 
them."  And  said,  "  These  sects  and  divisions  introduce  profane- 
ness  under  the  cloak  of  an  imaginary  religion;  and  that  we  have 
lost  the  substance  of  religion  by  changing  it  into  opinion :  and  that 
by  these  means  this  Church,  which  all  the  Jesuits'  machina- 
tions could  not  ruin,  was  fallen  into  apparent  danger  by  those 
which  were  his  accusers."  To  this  purpose  he  spoke  at  his 
death:  for  this,  and  more  of  which,  the  reader  may  view  his 
last  sad  sermon  on  the  scaffold.  And  it  is  here  mentioned, 
because  his  dear  friend,  Dr.  Sanderson,  seems  to  demonstrate 
the  same  in  his  two  large  and  remarkable  prefaces  before  his 
two  volumes  of  sermons;  and  he  seems  also  with  much  sorrow 

M 


162  IZAAK  WALTON 

to  say  the  same  again  in  his  last  will,  made  when  he  apprehended 
himself  to  be  very  near  his  death.  And  these  Covenanters  ought 
to  take  notice  of  it,  and  to  remember  that  by  the  late  wicked  war 
begun  by  them,  Dr.  Sanderson  was  ejected  out  of  the  Professor's 
Chair  in  Oxford ;  and  that  if  he  had  continued  in  it  —  for  he  lived 
fourteen  years  after — both  the  learned  of  this  and  other  nations 
had  been  made  happy  by  many  remarkable  cases  of  conscience,  so 
rationally  stated,  and  so  briefly,  so  clearly,  and  so  convincingly 
determined,  that  posterity  might  have  joyed  and  boasted  that  Dr. 
Sanderson  was  born  in  this  nation,  for  the  ease  and  benefit  of  all 
the  learned  that  shall  be  born  after  him :  but  this  benefit  is  so  like 
time  past,  that  they  are  both  irrevocably  lost. 

I  should  now  return  to  Boothby  Pannell,  where  we  left  Dr. 
Hammond  and  Dr.  Sanderson  together;  but  neither  can  be 
found  there:  for  the  first  was  in  his  journey  to  London,  and 
the  second  seized  upon  the  day  after  his  friend's  departure,  and 
carried  prisoner  to  Lincoln,  then  a  garrison  of  the  Parliament's. 
For  the  pretended  reason  of  which  commitment  I  shall  give 
this  following  account. 

There  was  one  Mr.  Clarke,  the  minister  of  Alington,  a  town 
not  many  miles  from  Boothby  Pannell,  who  was  an  active  man 
for  the  Parliament  and  Covenant;  one  that,  when  Belvoir  Castle  — 
then  a  garrison  for  the  Parliament  —  was  ta'ken  by  a  party  of  the 
King's  soldiers,  was  taken  in  it,  and  made  a  prisoner  of  war  in 
Newark,  then  a  garrison  of  the  King's ;  a  man  so  active  and  useful 
for  his  party,  that  they  became  so  much  concerned  for  his  enlarge- 
ment, that  the  Committee  of  Lincoln  sent  a  troop  of  horse  to  seize 
and  bring  Dr.  Sanderson  a  prisoner  to  that  garrison :  and  they  did 
so.  And  there  he  had  the  happiness  to  meet  with  many  that  knew 
him  so  well  as  to  treat  him  kindly ;  but  told  him,  "  He  must  con- 
tinue their  prisoner,  till  he  should  purchase  his  own  enlargement  by 
procuring  an  exchange  for  Mr.  Clarke,  then  prisoner  in  the  King's 
garrison  of  Newark."  There  were  many  reasons  given  by  the 
Doctor  of  the  injustice  of  his  imprisonment,  and  the  inequality 
of  the  exchange:  but  all  were  ineffectual;  for  done  it  must  be, 
or  he  continue  a  prisoner.  And  in  time  done  it  was,  upon  the 
following  conditions. 

First,  that  Dr.  Sanderson  and  Mr.  Clarke,  being  exchanged. 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.    ROBERT  SANDERSON  163 

should  live  undisturbed  at  their  own  parishes;  and  if  either 
were  injured  by  the  soldiers  of  the  contrary  party,  the  other, 
having  notice  of  it,  should  procure  him  a  redress,  by  having 
satisfaction  made  for  his  loss,  or  for  any  other  injury;  or  if  not, 
he  to  be  used  in  the  same  kind  by  the  other  party.  Neverthe- 
less, Dr.  Sanderson  could  neither  live  safe  nor  quietly,  being 
several  times  plundered,  and  once  wounded  in  three  places: 
but  he,  apprehending  the  remedy  might  turn  to  a  more  intol- 
erable burden  by  impatience  or  complaining,  forbore  both;  and 
possessed  his  soul  in  a  contented  quietness,  without  the  least 
repining.  But  though  he  could  not  enjoy  the  safety  he  expected 
by  this  exchange,  yet,  by  His  providence  that  can  bring  good 
out  of  evil,  it  turned  so  much  to  his  advantage,  that  whereas 
as  his  living  had  been  sequestered  from  the  year  1644,  and  con- 
tinued to  be  so  till  this  time  of  his  imprisonment,  he,  by  the  Articles 
of  War  in  this  exchange  for  Mr.  Clarke,  procured  his  sequestra- 
tion to  be  recalled,  and  by  that  means  enjoyed  a  poor  but  contented 
subsistence  for  himself,  wife,  and  children,  till  the  happy  restora- 
tion of  our  King  and  Church. 

In  this  time  of  his  poor  but  contented  privacy  of  life,  his  casuis- 
tical learning,  peaceful  moderation,  and  sincerity  became  so 
remarkable,  that  there  were  many  that  applied  themselves  to 
him  for  resolution  in  cases  of  conscience;  some  known  to  him, 
many  not;  some  requiring  satisfaction  by  conference,  others  by 
letters;  so  many,  that  his  life  became  almost  as  restless  as  their 
minds;  yet  he  denied  no  man:  and  if  it  be  a  truth  which  holy 
Mr.  Herbert  says,  "That  all  worldly  joys  seem  less,  when  com- 
pared with  showing  mercy  or  doing  kindnesses,"  then  doubtless 
Dr.  Sanderson  might  have  boasted  for  relieving  so  many  restless 
and  wounded  consciences;  which,  as  Solomon  says,  "are  a  burden 
that  none  can  bear,  though  their  fortitude  may  sustain  their  other 
infirmities;"  and  if  words  cannot  express  the  joy  of  a  conscience 
relieved  from  such  restless  agonies;  then  Dr.  Sanderson  might 
rejoice  that  so  many  were  by  him  so  clearly  and  conscientiously 
satisfied,  for  he  denied  none,  and  would  often  praise  God  for  that 
ability,  and  as  often  for  the  occasion,  and  that  God  had  inclined 
his  heart  to  do  it  to  the  meanest  of  any  of  those  poor  but  precious 
souls,  for  which  his  Saviour  vouchsafed  to  be  crucified. 


164  IZAAK  WALTON 

Some  of  these  very  many  cases  that  were  resolved  by  letters 
have  been  preserved  and  printed  for  the  benefit  of  posterity,  as 
namely  — 

1.  Of  the  Sabbath. 

2.  Marrying  with  a  Recusant. 

3.  Of  Unlawful  Love. 

4.  Of  a  Military  Life. 

5.  Of  Scandal. 

6.  Of  a  Bond  taken  in  the  King's  Name. 

7.  Of  the  Engagement. 

8.  Of  a  Rash  Vow. 

But  many  more  remain  in  private  hands,  of  which  one  is  of 
Simony;  and  I  wish  the  world  might  see  it,  that  it  might  un- 
deceive some  patrons,  who  think  they  have  discharged  that 
great  and  dangerous  trust,  both  to  God  and  man,  if  they  take 
no  money  for  a  living,  though  it  may  be  parted  with  for  other 
ends  less  justifiable. 

And  in  this  time  of  his  retirement,  when  the  common  people 
were  amazed  and  grown  giddy  by  the  many  falsehoods  and 
missapplications  of  truths  frequently  vented  in  sermons;  when 
they  wrested  the  Scripture  by  challenging  God  to  be  of  their 
party,  and  called  upon  him  in  their  prayers  to  patronise  their 
sacrilege  and  zealous  frenzies ;  in  this  time  he  did  so  compassion- 
ate the  generality  of  this  misled  nation,  that  though  the  times 
threatened  danger,  yet  he  then  hazarded  his  safety  by  writing  the 
large  and  bold  preface,  now  extant,  before  his  last  twenty  sermons 

—  first  printed  in  the  year  1655  —  m  which  there  was  such  strength 
of  reason,  with  so  powerful  and  clear  convincing  applications  made 
to  the  Nonconformists,  as  being  read  by  one  of  those  dissenting 
brethren,  who  was  possessed  with  such  a  spirit  of  contradiction, 
as  being  neither  able  to  defend  his  error,  nor  yield  to  truth  manifest, 

—  his  conscience  having  slept  long  and  quietly  in  a  good  seques- 
tered living,  —  was  yet  at  the  reading  of  it  so  awakened,  that  after 
a  conflict  with  the  reason  he  had  met,  and  the  damage  he  was  to 
sustain  if  he  consented  to  it,  —  and  being  still  unwilling  to  be  so 
convinced,  as  to  lose  by  being  over-reasoned,  —  he  went  in  haste  to 
the  bookseller  of  whom  it  was  bought,  threatened  him,  and  told 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  165 

him  in  anger,  "he  had  sold  a  book  in  which  there  was  false  divinity ; 
and  that  the  preface  had  upbraided  the  Parliament,  and  many 
godly  ministers  of  that  party,  for  unjust  dealing."  To  which  his 
reply  was,  —  'twas  Tim.  Garth waite,  —  "That  'twas  not  his 
trade  to  judge  of  true  or  false  divinity,  but  to  print  and  sell  books : 
and  yet  if  he,  or  any  friend  of  his,  would  write  an  answer  to  it,  and 
own  it  by  setting  his  name  to  it,  he  would  print  the  answer,  and 
promote  the  selling  of  it." 

About  the  time  of  his  printing  this  excellent  preface,  I  met 
him  accidentally  in  London,  in  sad-coloured  clothes,  and,  God 
knows,  far  from  being  costly.  The  place  of  our  meeting  was 
near  to  Little  Britain,  where  he  had  been  to  buy  a  book,  which 
he  then  had  in  his  hand.  We  had  no  inclination  to  part  presently, 
and  therefore  turned  to  stand  in  a  corner  under  a  pent-house,  — 
for  it  began  to  rain,  —  and  immediately  the  wind  rose,  and  the 
rain  increased  so  much,  that  both  became  so  inconvenient,  as  to 
force  us  into  a  cleanly  house,  where  we  had  bread,  cheese,  ale, 
and  a  fire  for  our  money.  This  rain  and  wind  were  so  obliging 
to  me,  as  to  force  our  stay  there  for  at  least  an  hour,  to  my  great 
content  and  advantage,  for  in  that  time  he  made  to  me  many  useful 
observations,  with  much  clearness  and  conscientious  freedom. 
I  shall  relate  a  part  of  them,  in  hope  they  may  also  turn  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  my  reader.  He  seemed  to  lament  that  the  Parlia- 
ment had  taken  upon  them  to  abolish  our  Liturgy,  to  the  scandal 
of  so  many  devout  and  learned  men,  and  the  disgrace  of  those 
many  martyrs  who  had  sealed  the  truth  and  use  of  it  with  their 
blood :  and  that  no  minister  was  now  thought  godly  that  did  not 
decry  it,  and  at  least  pretend  to  make  better  prayers  ex  tempore: 
and  that  they,  and  only  they,  that  could  do  so  prayed  by  the  Spirit, 
and  were  godly;  though  in  their  sermons  they  disputed,  and 
evidently  contradicted  each  other  in  their  prayers.  And  as  he 
did  dislike  this,  so  he  did  most  highly  commend  the  Common 
Prayer  of  the  Church,  saying,  "the  Collects  were  the  most  pas- 
sionate, proper,  and  most  elegant  expressions  that  any  language 
ever  afforded ;  and  that  there  was  in  them  such  piety,  and  so  in- 
terwoven with  instructions,  that  they  taught  us  to  know  the 
power,  the  wisdom,  the  majesty,  and  mercy  of  God,  and  much  of 
our  duty  both  to  him  and  our  neighbour :  and  that  a  congregation, 


l66  IZAAK   WALTON 

behaving  themselves  reverently,  and  putting  up  to  God  these  joint 
and  known  desires  for  pardon  of  sins,  and  praises  for  mercies  re- 
ceived, could  not  but  be  more  pleasing  to  God  than  those  raw,  un- 
premeditated expressions  to  which  many  of  the  hearers  could  not 
say,  Amen." 

And  he  then  commended  to  me  the  frequent  use  of  the  Psalter, 
or  Psalms  of  David;  speaking  to  this  purpose:  "That  they  were 
the  treasury  of  Christian  comfort,  fitted  for  all  persons  and  necessi- 
ties ;  able  to  raise  the  soul  from  dejection  by  the  frequent  mention 
of  God's  mercies  to  repentant  sinners ;  to  stir  up  holy  desires :  to 
increase  joy;  to  moderate  sorrow;  to  nourish  hope,  and  teach  us 
patience,  by  waiting  God's  leisure :  to  beget  a  trust  in  the  mercy, 
power,  and  providence  of  our  Creator ;  and  to  cause  a  resignation 
of  ourselves  to  his  will;  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  to  believe 
ourselves  happy."  This,  he  said,  the  Liturgy  and  Psalms  taught 
us;  and  that  by  the  frequent  use  of  the  last,  they  would  not  only 
prove  to  be  our  soul's  comfort,  but  would  become  so  habitual 
as  to  transform  them  into  the  image  of  his  soul  that  composed  them. 
After  this  manner  he  expressed  himself  concerning  the  Liturgy  and 
Psalms;  and  seemed  to  lament  that  this,  which  was  the  devotion 
of  the  more  primitive  times,  should  in  common  pulpits  be  turned 
into  needless  debates  about  Freewill,  Election,  and  Reprobation, 
of  which,  and  many  like  questions,  we  may  be  safely  ignorant, 
because  Almighty  God  intends  not  to  lead  us  to  Heaven  by  hard 
questions,  but  by  meekness  and  charity,  and  a  frequent  practice 
of  devotion. 

And  he  seemed  to  lament  very  much  that,  by  the  means  of 
irregular  and  indiscreet  preaching,  the  generality  of  the  nation 
were  possessed  with  such  dangerous  mistakes,  as  to  think  "they 
might  be  religious  first,  and  then  just  and  merciful;  that  they 
might  sell  their  consciences,  and  yet  have  something  left  that 
was  worth  keeping;  that  they  might  be  sure  they  were  elected, 
though  their  lives  were  visibly  scandalous;  that  to  be  cunning 
was  to  be  wise;  that  to  be  rich  was  to  be  happy,  though  their 
wealth  was  got  without  justice  or  mercy;  that  to  be  busy  in 
things  they  understood  not  was  no  sin."  These  and  the  like 
mistakes  he  lamented  much,  and  besought  God  to  remove  them, 
and  restore  us  to  that  humility,  sincerity,  and  single-hearted- 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  167 

ness  with  which  this  nation  was  blessed  before  the  unhappy  Cove- 
nant was  brought  into  the  nation,  and  every  man  preached  and 
prayed  what  seemed  best  in  his  own  eyes.  And  he  then  said  to 
me,  "That  the  way  to  restore  this  nation  to  a  more  meek  and 
Christian  temper,  was  to  have  the  body  of  divinity  —  or  so  much 
of  it  as  was  needful  to  be  known  —  to  be  put  into  fifty-two  homi- 
lies or  sermons,  of  such  a  length  as  not  to  exceed  a  third  or  fourth 
part  of  an  hour's  reading:  and  these  needful  points  to  be  made 
so  clear  and  plain,  that  those  of  a  mean  capacity  might  know 
what  was  necessary  to  be  believed,  and  what  God  requires  to  be 
done ;  and  then  some  applications  of  trials  and  conviction :  and 
these  to  be  read  every  Sunday  of  the  year,  as  infallibly  as  the  blood 
circulates  the  body;  and  then  as  certainly  begun  again,  and  con- 
tinued the  year  following:  and  that  this  being  done,  it  might 
probably  abate  the  inordinate  desires  of  knowing  what  we  need 
not,  and  practising  what  we  know  and  ought  to  do."  This  was 
the  earnest  desire  of  this  prudent  man.  And  Oh  that  Dr.  Sander- 
son had  undertaken  it !  for  then  in  all  probability  it  would  have 
proved  effectual. 

At  this  happy  time  of  enjoying  his  company  and  his  discourse, 
he  expressed  a  sorrow  by  saying  to  me,  "Oh  that  I  had  gone 
chaplain  to  that  excellently  accomplished  gentleman,  your  friend, 
Sir  Henry  Wotton ! 1  which  was  once  intended,  when  he  first 
went  Ambassador  to  the  State  of  Venice :  for  by  that  employment 
I  had  been  forced  into  a  necessity  of  conversing,  not  with  him 
only,  but  with  several  men  of  several  nations ;  and  might  thereby 
have  kept  myself  from  my  unmanly  bashfulness,  which  has  proved 
very  troublesome,  and  not  less  inconvenient  to  me;  and  which 
I  now  fear  is  become  so  habitual  as  never  to  leave  me:  and  by 
that  means  I  might  also  have  known,  or  at  least  have  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing,  one  of  the  late  miracles  of  general  learning, 
prudence,  and  modesty,  Sir  Henry  Wotton's  dear  friend,  Padre 
Paulo,2  who,  the  author  of  his  life  says,  was  born  with  a  bashful- 
ness  as  invincible  as  I  have  found  my  own  to  be :  a  man  whose 
fame  must  never  die,  till  virtue  and  learning  shall  become  so 
useless  as  not  to  be  regarded." 

1  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  1568-1639,  English  diplomatist  and  author. 

2  Fra  Paolo  Sarpi,  1552-1623,  Venetian  philosopher,  historian,  and  patriot. 


1 68  IZAAK   WALTON 

This  was  a  part  of  the  benefit  I  then  had  by  that  hour's  conver- 
sation: and  I  gladly  remember  and  mention  it  as  an  argument 
of  my  happiness,  and  his  great  humility  and  condescension. 
I  had  also  a  like  advantage  by  another  happy  conference  with 
him,  which  I  am  desirous  to  impart  in  this  place  to  the  reader. 
He  lamented  much  that  in  many  parishes,  where  the  maintenance 
was  not  great,  there  was  no  minister  to  officiate;  and  that  many 
of  the  best  sequestered  livings  were  possessed  with  such  rigid 
Covenanters  as  denied  the  Sacrament  to  their  parishioners,  unless 
upon  such  conditions  and  in  such  a  manner  as  they  could  not 
take  it.  This  he  mentioned  with  much  sorrow,  saying,  "The 
blessed  Sacrament  did,  by  way  of  preparation  for  it,  give  occasion 
to  all  conscientious  receivers  to  examine  the  performance  of  their 
vows,  since  they  received  their  last  seal  for  the  pardon  of  their 
sins  past;  and  to  examine  and  research  their  hearts,  and  make 
penitent  reflections  on  their  failings;  and,  that  done,  to  bewail 
them,  and  then  make  new  vows  or  resolutions  to  obey  all  God's 
commands,  and  beg  his  grace  to  perform  them.  And  this  done, 
the  Sacrament  repairs  the  decays  of  grace,  helps  us  to  conquer 
infirmities,  gives  us  grace  to  beg  God's  grace,  and  then  gives  us 
what  we  beg ;  makes  us  still  hunger  and  thirst  after  his  righteous- 
ness, which  we  then  receive,  and  being  assisted  with  our  endeav- 
ours, will  still  so  dwell  in  us,  as  to  become  our  satisfaction  in  this 
life  and  our  comfort  on  our  last  sick-beds."  The  want  of  this 
blessed  benefit  he  lamented  much,  and  pitied  their  condition 
that  desired,  but  could  not  obtain  it. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  disoblige  my  reader,  if  I  here  enlarge  into 
a  further  character  of  his  person  and  temper.  As  first,  that 
he  was  moderately  tall :  his  behaviour  had  in  it  much  of  a  plain 
comeliness,  and  very  little,  yet  enough,  of  ceremony  or  court- 
ship; his  looks  and  motion  manifested  affability  and  mildness, 
and  yet  he  had  with  these  a  calm,  but  so  matchless  a  fortitude, 
as  secured  him  from  complying  with  any  of  those  many  Parlia- 
ment injunctions  that  interfered  with  a  doubtful  conscience. 
His  learning  was  methodical  and  exact,  his  wisdom  useful,  his 
integrity  visible,  and  his  whole  life  so  unspotted  that  all  ought 
to  be  preserved  as  copies  for  posterity  to  write  after;  the  clergy 
especially,  who  with  impure  hands  ought  not  to  offer  sacrifice  to 
that  God,  whose  pure  eyes  abhor  iniquity. 


THE   LIFE  OF  DR.    ROBERT  SANDERSON  169 

There  was  in  his  sermons  no  improper  rhetoric,  nor  such 
perplexed  divisions,  as  may  be  said  to  be  like  too  much  light, 
that  so  dazzles  the  eyes  that  the  sight  becomes  less  perfect :  but 
there  was  therein  no  want  of  useful  matter,  nor  waste  of  words ; 
and  yet  such  clear  distinctions  as  dispelled  all  confused  notions, 
and  made  his  hearers  depart  both  wiser,  and  more  confirmed 
in  virtuous  resolutions. 

His  memory  was  so  matchless  and  firm,  as  'twas  only  over- 
come by  his  bashfulness;  for  he  alone,  or  to  a  friend,  could  repeat 
all  the  Odes  of  Horace,  all  Tully's  Offices,  and  much  of  Juvenal 
and  Persius,  without  book:  and  would  say,  "the  repetition  of 
one  of  the  Odes  of  Horace  to  himself  was  to  him  such  music, 
as  a  lesson  on  the  viol  was  to  others,  when  they  played  it  to  them- 
selves or  friends."  And  though  he  was  blessed  with  a  clearer 
judgment  than  other  men,  yet  he  was  so  distrustful  of  it,  that 
he  did  over-consider  of  consequences,  and  would  so  delay  and 
reconsider  what  to  determine,  that  though  none  ever  determined 
better,  yet,  when  the  bell  tolled  for  him  to  appear  and  read  his 
divinity  lectures  in  Oxford,  and  all  the  scholars  attended  to  hear 
him,  he  had  not  then,  or  not  till  then,  resolved  and  writ  what 
he  meant  to  determine;  so  that  that  appeared  to  be  a  truth, 
which  his  old  dear  friend  Dr.  Sheldon  would  often  say,  namely, 
"That  his  judgment  was  so  much  superior  to  his  fancy,  that 
whatsoever  this  suggested,  that  disliked  and  controlled;  still 
considering  and  re-considering,  till  his  time  was  so  wasted, 
that  he  was  forced  to  write,  not,  probably,  what  was  best,  but 
what  he  thought  last."  And  yet  what  he  did  then  read  appeared 
to  all  hearers  to  be  so  useful,  clear,  and  satisfactory,  as  none 
ever  determined  with  greater  applause.  These  tiring  and  per- 
plexing thoughts  begot  in  him  an  averseness  to  enter  into  the  toil 
of  considering  and  determining  all  casuistical  points;  because 
during  that  time,  they  neither  gave  rest  to  his  body  or  mind. 
But  though  he  would  not  be  always  loaden  with  these  knotty 
points  and  distinctions;  yet  the  study  of  old  records,  geneal- 
ogies, and  heraldry  were  a  recreation,  and  so  pleasing,  that  he 
would  say  they  gave  rest  to  his  mind.  Of  the  last  of  which  I 
have  seen  two  remarkable  volumes ;  and  the  reader  needs  neither 
to  doubt  their  truth  or  exactness. 


170  IZAAK   WALTON 

And  this  humble  man  had  so  conquered  all  repining  and  am- 
bitious thoughts,  and  with  them  all  other  unruly  passions,  that 
if  the  accidents  of  the  day  proved  to  his  danger  or  damage,  yet 
he  both  began  and  ended  it  with  an  even  and  undisturbed  quiet- 
ness; always  praising  God  that  he  had  not  withdrawn  food  and 
raiment  from  him  and  his  poor  family ;  nor  suffered  him  to  violate 
his  conscience  for  his  safety,  or  to  support  himself  or  them  in  a 
more  splendid  or  plentiful  condition ;  and  that  he  therefore  resolved 
with  David,  "That  his  praise  should  be  always  in  his  mouth." 

I  have  taken  a  content  in  giving  my  reader  this  character  of 
his  person,  his  temper,  and  some  of  the  accidents  of  his  life  past ; 
and  more  might  be  added  of  all;  but  I  will  with  great  sorrow 
look*  forward  to  the  sad  days,  in  which  so  many  good  men  suf- 
fered, about  the  year  1658,  at  which  time  Dr.  Sanderson  was 
in  a  very  low  condition  as  to  his  estate;  and  in  that  time  Mr. 
Robert  Boyle  —  a  gentleman  of  a  very  noble  birth,  and  more 
eminent  for  his  liberality,  learning,  and  virtue,  and  of  whom  I 
would  say  much  more,  but  that  he  still  lives  —  having  casually 
met  with  and  read  his  lectures  de  Juramento,  to  his  great  satis- 
faction, and  being  informed  of  Dr.  Sanderson's  great  innocence 
and  sincerity,  and  that  he  and  his  family  were  brought  into  a 
low  condition  by  his  not  complying  with  the  Parliament's  in- 
junctions, sent  him  by  his  dear  friend  Dr.  Barlow  —  the  now 
learned  Bishop  of  Lincoln  —  £50,  and  with  it  a  request  and 
promise.  The  request  was,  that  he  would  review  the  Lectures 
de  Conscientid,  which  he  had  read  when  he  was  Doctor  of  the 
Chair  in  Oxford,  and  print  them  for  the  good  of  posterity:  — 
and  this  Dr.  Sanderson  did  in  the  year  1659.  And  the  promise 
was,  that  he  would  pay  him  that,  or  a  greater  sum  if  desired, 
during  his  life,  to  enable  him  to  pay  an  amanuensis,  to  ease  him 
from  the  trouble  of  writing  what  he  should  conceive  or  dictate. 
For  the  more  particular  account  of  which  I  refer  my  reader  to 
a  letter  writ  by  the  said  Dr.  Barlow,  which  I  have  annexed  to 
the  end  of  this  relation. 

Towards  the  end  of  this  year,  1659,  when  the  many  mixed 
sects,  and  their  creators  and  merciless  protectors,  had  led  or 
driven  each  other  into  a  whirlpool  of  confusion:  when  amaze- 
ment and  fear  had  seized  them,  and  their  accusing  consciences 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  171 

gave  them  an  inward  and  fearful  intelligence,  that  the  god  which 
they  had  long  served  was  now  ready  to  pay  them  such  wages, 
as  he  does  always  reward  witches  with  for  their  obeying  him: 
when  these  wretches  were  come  to  foresee  an  end  of  their  cruel 
reign,  by  our  King's  return;  and  such  sufferers  as  Dr.  San- 
derson —  and  with  him  many  of  the  oppressed  clergy  and  others 

—  could  foresee  the  cloud  of  their  afflictions  would  be  dispersed 
by  it;    then,  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  following,  the  King 
was  by  God  restored  to  us,  and  we  to  our  known  laws  and  liber- 
ties, and  a  general  joy  and  peace  seemed  to  breathe  through 
the  three  nations.     Then  were  the  suffering  clergy  freed  from 
their  sequestration,  restored  to  their  revenues,  and  to  a  liberty 
to  adore,  praise,  and  pray  to  God  in  such  order  as  their  con- 
sciences and  oaths  had  formerly  obliged  them.     And  the  reader 
will  easily  believe,  that  Dr.  Sanderson  and  his  dejected  family 
rejoiced  to  see  this  day,  and  be  of  this  number. 

It  ought  to  be  considered  —  which  I  have  often  heard  or  read 

—  that  in  the  primitive  times  men  of  learning  and  virtue  were 
usually  sought  for,  and  solicited  to  accept  of  episcopal  govern- 
ment, and  often  refused  it.     For  they  conscientiously  considered 
that  the  office  of  a  bishop  was  made  up  of  labour  and  care ;  that 
they  were  trusted  to  be  God's  almoners  of  the  Church's  revenue 
and  double  their  care  for  the  poor;   to  live  strictly  themselves, 
and  use  all  diligence  to  see  that  their  family,  officers,  and  clergy 
did  so;   and  that  the  account  of  that  stewardship  must,  at  the 
last  dreadful  day,  be  made  to  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts:    and 
that  in  the  primitive  times  they  were  therefore  timorous  to  under- 
take it.     It  may  not  be  said  that  Dr.  Sanderson  was  accomplished 
with  these,  and  all  the  other  requisites  required  in  a  bishop,  so 
as  to  be  able  to  answer  them  exactly;   but  it  may  be  affirmed, 
as  a  good  preparation,  that  he  had  at  the  age  of  seventy-three 
years  —  for  he  was  so  old  at  the  King's  return  —  fewer  faults 
to  be  pardoned  by  God  or  man,  than  are  apparent  in  others  in 
these  days,  in  which  God  knows,  we  fall  so  short  of  that  visible 
sanctity  and  zeal  to  God's  glory,  which  was  apparent  in  the  days 
of  primitive  Christianity.     This  is  mentioned  by  way  of  prepa- 
ration  to  what  I  shall  say  more  of  Dr.    Sanderson;    namely, 
that,  at  the  King's  return,  Dr.  Sheldon,  the  late  prudent  Bishop 


172  IZAAK  WALTON 

of  Canterbury,  —  than  whom  none  knew,  valued,  or  loved  Dr. 
Sanderson,  more  or  better,  —  was  by  his  Majesty  made  a  chief 
trustee  to  commend  to  him  fit  men  to  supply  the  then  vacant 
bishoprics.  And  Dr.  Sheldon  knew  none  fitter  than  Dr.  San- 
derson, and  therefore  humbly  desired  the  King  that  he  would 
nominate  him:  and,  that  done,  he  did  as  humbly  desire  Dr. 
Sanderson  that  he  would,  for  God's  and  the  Church's  sake,  take 
that  charge  and  care  upon  him.  Dr.  Sanderson  had,  if  not  an 
unwillingness,  certainly  no  forwardness  to  undertake  it;  and  would 
often  say,  he  had  not  led  himself,  but  his  friend  would  now  lead 
him  into  a  temptation,  which  he  had  daily  prayed  against;  and 
besought  God,  if  he  did  undertake  it,  so  to  assist  him  with  his  grace, 
that  the  example  of  his  life,  his  cares  and  endeavours,  might 
promote  his  glory,  and  help  forward  the  salvation  of  others. 

This  I  have  mentioned  as  a  happy  preparation  to  his  bish- 
opric; and  am  next  to  tell,  that  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of 
Lincoln  at  Westminster,  the  28th  of  October,  1660. 

There  was  about  this  time  a  Christian  care  taken,  that  those 
whose  consciences  were,  as  they  said,  tender,  and  could  not 
comply  with  the  service  and  ceremonies  of  the  Church,  might 
have  satisfaction  given  by  a  friendly  debate  betwixt  a  select 
number  of  them,  and  some  like  number  of  those  that  had  been 
sufferers  for  the  Church  service  and  ceremonies,  and  now  restored 
to  liberty;  of  which  last  some  were  then  preferred  to  power  and 
dignity  in  the  Church.  And  of  these  Bishop  Sanderson  was 
one,  and  then  chose  to  be  a  moderator  in  that  debate:  and  he 
performed  his  trust  with  much  mildness,  patience,  and  reason; 
but  all  proved  ineffectual;  for  there  be  some  prepossessions 
like  jealousies,  which,  though  causeless,  yet  cannot  be  removed 
by  reasons  as  apparent  as  demonstration  can  make  any  truth. 
The  place  appointed  for  this  debate  was  the  Savoy  in  the  Strand  : 
and  the  points  debated  were,  I  think,  many;  some  affirmed 
to  be  truth  and  reason,  some  denied  to  be  either;  and  these 
debates  being  then  in  words,  proved  to  be  so  loose  and  perplexed 
as  satisfied  neither  party.  For  some  time  that  which  had  been 
affirmed  was  immediately  forgot  or  denied,  and  so  no  satisfac- 
tion given  to  either  party.  But  that  the  debate  might  become 
more  useful,  it  was  therefore  resolved  that  the  day  following  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  173 

desires  and  reasons  of  the  Nonconformists  should  be  given  in 
writing,  and  they  in  writing  receive  answers  from  the  conform- 
ing party.  And  though  I  neither  now  can  nor  need  to  mention 
all  the  points  debated,  nor  the  names  of  the  dissenting  brethren; 
yet  I  am  sure  Mr.  Baxter 1  was  one,  and  am  sure  what  shall  now 
follow  was  one  of  the  points  debated. 

Concerning  a  command  of  lawful  superiors,  what  was  sufficient 
to  its  being  a  lawful  command;  this  proposition  was  brought 
by  the  conforming  party. 

"That  command  which  commands  an  act  in  itself  lawful,  and 
no  other  act  or  circumstance  unlawful,  is  not  sinful. " 

Mr.  Baxter  denied  it  for  two  reasons,  which  he  gave  in  with 
his  own  hand  in  writing,  thus: 

One  was,  "Because  that  may  be  a  sin  per  accidens,  which  is 
not  so  in  itself,  and  may  be  unlawfully  commanded,  though  that 
accident  be  not  in  the  command."  Another  was,  "That  it  may 
be  commanded  under  an  unjust  penalty." 

Again,  this  proposition  being  brought  by  the  Conformists, 
"That  command  which  commandeth  an  act  in  itself  lawful, 
and  no  other  act  whereby  any  unjust  penalty  is  enjoined,  nor 
any  circumstance  whence,  per  accidens,  any  sin  is  consequent 
which  the  commander  ought  to  provide  against,  is  not  sinful." 

Mr.  Baxter  denied  it  for  this  reason,  then  given  in  with  his 
own  hand  in  writing  thus:  "Because  the  first  act  commanded 
may  be  per  accidens  unlawful,  and  be  commanded  by  an  unjust 
penalty,  though  no  other  act  or  circumstance  commanded  be  such." 

Again,  this  proposition  being  brought  by  the  Conformists, 
"That  command  which  commandeth  an  act  in  itself  lawful,  and 
no  other  act  whereby  any  unjust  penalty  is  enjoined,  nor  any 
circumstance,  whence  directly,  or  per  accidens,  any  sin  is  con- 
sequent, which  the  commander  ought  to  provide  against,  hath 
in  it  all  things  requisite  to  the  lawfulness  of  a  command,  and 
particularly  cannot  be  guilty  of  commanding  an  act  per  accidens 
unlawful,  nor  of  commanding  an  act  under  an  unjust  penalty." 

Mr.  Baxter  denied  it  upon  the  same  reasons. 

PETER  GUNNING. 
JOHN  PEARSON. 

1  Richard  Baxter,  1615-1691,  author  of  The  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest. 


174  IZAAK  WALTON 

These  were  then  two  of  the  disputants,  still  alive,  and  will 
attest  this;  one  being  now  Lord  Bishop  of  Ely,  and  the  other 
of  Chester.  And  the  last  of  them  told  me  very  lately,  that  one 
of  the  Dissenters  • —  which  I  could  but  forbear  to  name  —  ap- 
peared to  Dr.  Sanderson  to  be  so  bold,  so  troublesome,  and  so 
illogical  in  the  dispute,  as  forced  patient  Dr.  Sanderson  —  who 
was  then  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  and  a  moderator  with  other  bishops 
—  to  say,  with  an  unusual  earnestness,  "That  he  had  never 
met  with  a  man  of  more  pertinacious  confidence,  and  less  abili- 
ties, in  all  his  conversation." 

But  though  this  debate  at  the  Savoy  was  ended  without  any 
great  satisfaction  to  either  party,  yet  both  parties  knew  the  de- 
sires, and  understood  the  abilities,  of  the  other,  much  better 
than  before  it:  and  the  late  distressed  clergy,  that  were  now 
restored  to  their  former  rights  and  power,  did,  at  the  next  meet- 
ing in  Convocation,  contrive  to  give  the  dissenting  party  satis- 
faction by  alteration,  explanation,  and  addition  to  some  part 
both  of  the  Rubric  and  Common  Prayer,  as  also  by  adding  some 
necessary  Collects,  and  a  particular  Collect  of  Thanksgiving.  How 
many  of  those  new  Collects  were  worded  by  Dr.  Sanderson,  I 
cannot  say;  but  am  sure  the  whole  Convocation  valued  him  so 
much  that  he  never  undertook  to  speak  to  any  point  in  ques- 
tion, but  he  was  heard  with  great  willingness  and  attention;  and 
when  any  point  in  question  was  determined,  the  Convocation 
did  usually  desire  him  to  word  their  intentions,  and  as  usually 
approve  and  thank  him. 

At  this  Convocation  the  Common  Prayer  was  made  more  com- 
plete, by  adding  three  new  necessary  Offices;  which  were,  "A 
Form  of  Humiliation  for  the  Murder  of  King  Charles  the  Martyr; 
A  Thanksgiving  for  the  Restoration  of  his  Son  our  King ;  and 
For  the  Baptising  of  Persons  of  riper  Age."  I  cannot  say  Dr. 
Sanderson  did  form,  or  word  them  all,  but  doubtless  more  than 
any  single  man  of  the  Convocation;  and  he  did  also,  by  desire 
of  the  Convocation,  alter  and  add  to  the  forms  of  prayers  to  be 
used  at  sea  —  now  taken  into  the  service-book.  And  it  may  be 
noted,  that  William,  the  now  Right  Reverend  Bishop  of  Canter- 
bury, was  in  these  employments  diligently  useful;  especially 
in  helping  to  rectify  the  Calendar  and  Rubric.  And  lastly,  it  may 


THE  LIFE   OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  175 

be  noted,  that,  for  the  satisfying  all  the  dissenting  brethren  and 
others,  the  Convocation's  reasons  for  the  alterations  and  additions 
to  the  Liturgy  were  by  them  desired  to  be  drawn  up  by  Dr.  San- 
derson; which  being  done  by  him,  and  approved  by  them,  was 
appointed  to  be  printed  before  the  Liturgy,  and  may  be  known 
by  this  title,  "The  Preface;"  and  begins  thus  — "It  hath  been 
the  wisdom  of  the  Church." 

I  shall  now  follow  him  to  his  bishopric,  and  declare  a  part 
of  his  behaviour  in  that  busy  and  weighty  employment.  And 
first,  that  it  was  with  such  condescension  and  obligingness  to 
the  meanest  of  his  clergy,  as  to  know  and  be  known  to  them. 
And  indeed  he  practised  the  like  to  all  men  of  what  degree  soever, 
especially  to  his  old  neighbours  or  parishioners  of  Boothby  Pan- 
nell;  for  there  was  all  joy  at  his  table,  when  they  came  to  visit 
him:  then  they  prayed  for  him,  and  he  for  them,  with  an  un- 
feigned affection. 

I  think  it  will  not  be  denied  but  that  the  care  and  toil  required 
of  a  bishop  may  justly  challenge  the  riches  and  revenue  with 
which  their  predecessors  had  lawfully  endowed  them :  and  yet  he 
sought  not  that  so  much,  as  doing  good  both  to  the  present  age  and 
posterity ;  and  he  made  this  appear  by  what  follows. 

The  Bishop's  chief  house  at  Buckden,  in  the  county  of  Hunt- 
ingdon, the  usual  residence  of  his  predecessors,  — for  it  stands  about 
the  midst  of  his  diocese, — having  been  at  his  consecration  a  great 
part  of  it  demolished,  and  what  was  left  standing  under  a  visible 
decay,  was  by  him  undertaken  to  be  erected  and  repaired :  and  it 
was  performed  with  great  speed,  care,  and  charge.  And  to  this 
may  be  added,  that  the  King  having  by  an  injunction  commended 
to  the  care  of  the  bishops,  deans,  and  prebends  of  all  Cathedral 
Churches,  "the  repair  of  them,  their  houses,  and  augmentation  of 
small  vicarages;"  he,  when  he  was  repairing  Buckden,  did  also 
augment  the  last,  as  fast  as  fines  were  paid  for  renewing  leases :  so 
fast,  that  a  friend,  taking  notice  of  his  bounty,  was  so  bold  as  to 
advise  him  to  remember  "he  was  under  his  first-fruits,  and  that  he 
was  old,  and  had  a  wife  and  children  yet  but  meanly  provided  for, 
especially  if  his  dignity  were  considered. "  To  whom  he  made  a 
mild  and  thankful  answer,  saying,  "  It  would  not  become  a  Chris- 
tian bishop  to  suffer  those  houses  built  by  his  predecessors  to  be 


176  IZAAK  WALTON 

ruined  for  want  of  repair;  and  less  justifiable  to  suffer  any  of  those, 
that  were  called  to  so  high  a  calling  as  to  sacrifice  at  God's  altar, 
to  eat  the  bread  of  sorrow  constantly,  when  he  had  a  power  by  a 
small  augmentation,  to  turn  it  into  the  bread  of  cheerfulness :  and 
wished,  that  as  this  was,  so  it  were  also  in  his  power  to  make  all 
mankind  happy,  for  he  desired  nothing  more.  And  for  his  wife 
and  children,  he  hoped  to  leave  them  a  competence,  and  in  the 
hands  of  a  God  that  would  provide  for  all  that  kept  innocence,  and 
trusted  His  providence  and  protection,  which  he  had  always  found 
enough  to  make  and  keep  him  happy. " 

There  was  in  his  diocese  a  minister  of  almost  his  age,  that  had 
been  of  Lincoln  College  when  he  left  it,  who  visited  him  often,  and 
always  welcome,  because  he  was  a  man  of  innocence  and  open  heart- 
edness.  This  minister  asked  the  Bishop  what  books  he  studied 
most,  when  he  laid  the  foundation  of  his  great  and  clear  learning. 
To  which  his  answer  was,  "that  he  declined  reading  many; 
but  what  he  did  read  were  well  chosen,  and  read  so  often,  that  he 
became  very  familiar  with  them;"  and  said,  "they  were  chiefly 
three,  Aristotle's  Rhetoric,  Aquinas's  Secunda  Secundce,  and  Tully, 
but  chiefly  his  Offices,  which  he  had  not  read  over  less  than  twenty 
times,  and  could  at  this  age  say  without  book. "  And  told  him  also, 
"the  learned  civilian  Doctor  Zouch  —  who  died  lately — had  writ 
Elementa  Juris  prudentice,  which  was  a  book  that  he  could  also  say 
without  book;  and  that  no  wise  man  could  read  it  too  often,  or 
love  or  commend  too  much;"  and  told  him  "these  had  been  his 
toil ;  but  for  himself  he  always  had  a  natural  love  to  genealogies  and 
heraldry;  and  that  when  his  thoughts  were  harassed  with  any 
perplexed  studies,  he  left  off,  and  turned  to  them  as  a  recreation ; 
and  that  his  very  recreation  had  made  him  so  perfect  in  them, 
that  he  could,  in  a  very  short  time,  give  an  account  of  the  descent, 
arms,  and  antiquity  of  any  family  of  the  nobility  or  gentry  of  this 
nation. " 

Before  I  give  an  account  of  Dr.  Sanderson's  last  sickness,  I  desire 
to  tell  the  reader  that  he  was  of  a  healthful  constitution,  cheerful 
and  mild,  of  an  even  temper,  very  moderate  in  his  diet,  and  had 
had  little  sickness,  till  some  few  years  before  his  death ;  but  was 
then  every  winter  punished  with  a  diarrhoea,  which  left  not  till 
warm  weather  returned  and  removed  it:  and  this  distemper  did, 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  177 

as  he  grew  older,  seize  him  oftener,  and  continue  longer  with  him. 
But  though  it  weakened  him,  yet  it  made  him  rather  indis- 
posed than  sick,  and  did  no  way  disable  him  from  studying  — 
indeed  too  much.  In  this  decay  of  his  strength,  but  not  of  his 
memory  or  reason,  —  for  this  distemper  works  not  upon  the  under- 
standing, —  he  made  his  last  will,  of  which  I  shall  give  some 
account  for  confirmation  of  what  hath  been  said,  and  what  I  think 
convenient  to  be  known,  before  I  declare  his  death  and  burial. 

He  did  in  his  last  will  give  an  account  of  his  faith  and  persuasion 
in  point  of  religion,  and  Church  government,  in  these  very  words : 

"I,  Robert  Sanderson,  Doctor  of  Divinity, an  unworthy  Minister 
of  Jesus  Christ,  and,  by  the  providence  of  God,  Bishop  of  Lincoln, 
being  by  the  long  continuance  of  an  habitual  distemper  brought  to 
a  great  bodily  weakness  and  faintness  of  spirits,  but  —  by  the  great 
mercy  of  God  —  without  any  bodily  pain  otherwise,  or  decay  of 
understanding,  do  make  this  my  Will  and  Testament,  —  written  all 
with  my  own  hand,  —  revoking  all  former  Wills  by  me  heretofore 
made,  if  any  such  shall  be  found.  First,  I  commend  my  soul  into 
the  hands  of  Almighty  God,  as  of  a  faithful  Creator,  which  I  humbly 
beseech  him  mercifully  to  accept,  looking  upon  it,  not  as  it  is  in  itself 
—  infinitely  polluted  with  sin,  —  but  as  it  is  redeemed  and  purged 
with  precious  blood  of  his  only  beloved  Son,  and  my  most  sweet 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ ;  in  confidence  of  whose  merits  and  medita- 
tion alone  it  is,  that  I  cast  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  God  for  the 
pardon  of  my  sins,  and  the  hopes  of  eternal  life.  And  here  I  do 
profess,  that  as  I  have  lived,  so  I  desire,  and  —  by  the  grace  of  God 
— resolve,  to  die  in  the  communion  of  the  Catholic  Church  of  Christ, 
and  a  true  son  of  the  Church  of  England :  which,  as  it  stands  by  law 
established,  to  be  both  in  doctrine  and  worship  agreeable  to  the 
word  of  God,  and  in  the  most,  and  most  material  points  of  both 
conformable  to  the  faith  and  practice  of  the  godly  Churches  of 
Christ  in  the  primitive  and  purer  times,  I  do  firmly  believe :  led  so 
to  do,  not  so  much  from  the  force  of  custom  and  education,  —  to 
which  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  owe  their  particular  different 
persuasions  in  point  of  religion, — as  upon  the  clear  evidence  of 
truth  and  reason,  after  a  serious  and  impartial  examination  of  the 
grounds,  as  well  of  Popery  as  Puritanism,  according  to  that  meas- 
ure of  understanding,  and  those  opportunities  which  God  hath 


178  IZAAK   WALTON 

afforded  me :  and  herein  I  am  abundantly  satisfied,  that  the  schism 
which  the  Papists  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  superstition  which  the 
Puritan  on  the  other  hand,  lay  to  our  charge,  are  very  justly  charge- 
able upon  themselves  respectively.  Wherefore  I  humbly  beseech 
Almighty  God,  the  Father  of  mercies,  to  preserve  the  Church 
by  his  power  and  providence,  in  peace,  truth,  and  godliness,  ever- 
more to  the  world 's  end :  which  doubtless  he  will  do,  if  the  wicked- 
ness and  security  of  a  sinful  people  —  and  particularly  those  sins 
that  are  so  rife,  and  seem  daily  to  increase  among  us,  of  un- 
thankfulness,  riot,  and  sacrilege  —  do  not  tempt  his  patience  to  the 
contrary.  And  I  also  further  humbly  beseech  him,  that  it  would 
please  him  to  give  unto  our  gracious  Sovereign,  the  reverend  bish- 
ops, and  the  Parliament,  timely  to  consider  the  great  danger  that 
visibly  threatens  this  Church  in  point  of  religion  by  the  late  great 
increase  of  Popery,  and  in  point  of  revenue  by  sacrilegious  inclos- 
ures;  and  to  provide  such  wholesome  and  effectual  remedies,  as 
may  prevent  the  same  before  it  be  too  late." 

And  for  a  further  manifestation  of  his  humble  thoughts  and 
desires,  they  may  appear  to  the  reader  by  another  part  of  his  will 
which  follows. 

"As  for  my  corruptible  body,  I  bequeath  it  to  the  earth  whence 
it  was  taken,  to  be  decently  buried  in  the  Parish  Church  of  Buckden, 
towards  the  upper  end  of  the  chancel,  upon  the  second,  or  —  at 
the  furthest  —  the  third  day  after  my  decease ;  and  that  with  as 
little  noise,  pomp,  and  charge  as  may  be,  without  the  invitation 
of  any  person  how  near  soever  related  unto  me,  other  than 
the  inhabitants  of  Buckden;  without  the  unnecessary  expense 
of  escutcheons,  gloves,  ribbons,  etc.,  and  without  any  blacks 
to  be  hung  anywhere  in  or  about  the  house  or  Church,  other 
than  a  pulpit  cloth,  a  hearse  cloth,  and  a  mourning  gown  for 
the  preacher ;  whereof  the  former  —  after  my  body  shall  be 
interred  —  to  be  given  to  the  preacher  of  the  funeral  sermon,  and 
the  latter  to  the  curate  of  the  parish  for  the  time  being.  And 
my  will  further  is  that  the  funeral  sermon  be  preached  by  my 
own  household  chaplain,  containing  some  wholesome  discourse 
concerning  Mortality,  the  Resurrection  of  the  Dead  and  the  Last 
•Judgment;  and  that  he  shall  have  for  his  pains  £5,  upon  con- 
dition that  he  speak  nothing  at  all  concerning  my  person,  either 


THE  LIFE   OF  DR.    ROBERT  SANDERSON  179 

good  or  ill,  other  than  I  myself  shall  direct ;  only  signifying  to  the 
auditory  that  it  was  my  express  will  to  have  it  so.  And  it  is  my 
will,  that  no  costly  monument  be  erected  for  my  memory,  but  only 
a  fair  flat  marble  stone  to  be  laid  over  me,  with  this  incription  in 
legible  Roman  characters,  DEPOSITUM  ROBERTI  SANDERSON  NU- 

PER  LINCOLNIENSIS  EPISCOPI,  QUI  OBIIT  ANNO  DOMINI  MDCLXII. 
ET  ^TATIS  SU.E  SEPTUAGESIMO  SEXTO,  HIC  REQUIESCIT  IN 

SPE  BEATE  RESURRECTIONIS.  This  manner  of  burial,  although 
I  cannot  but  foresee  it  will  prove  unsatisfactory  to  sundry  my 
nearest  friends  and  relations,  and  be  apt  to  be  censured  by  others, 
as  an  evidence  of  my  too  much  parsimony  and  narrowness  of  mind, 
as  being  altogether  unusual,  and  not  according  to  the  mode  of 
these  times :  yet  it  is  agreeable  to  the  sense  of  my  heart,  and  I  do 
very  much  desire  my  will  may  be  carefully  observed  herein,  hoping 
it  may  become  exemplary  to  some  or  other :  at  least  however  testifying 
at  my  death  —  what  I  have  so  often  and  earnestly  professed  in  my 
lifetime  —  my  utter  dislike  of  the  flatteries  commonly  used  in 
funeral  sermons,  and  of  the  vast  expenses  otherwise  laid  out  in 
funeral  solemnities  and  entertainments,  with  very  little  benefit  to 
any;  which  if  bestowed  in  pious  and  charitable  works,  might 
redound  to  the  public  or  private  benefit  of  many  persons." 

I  am  next  to  tell,  that  he  died  the  2gth  of  January,  1662;*  and 
that  his  body  was  buried  in  Buckden,  the  third  day  after  his 
death ;  and  for  the  manner,  that  it  was  as  far  from  ostentation  as  he 
desired  it ;  and  all  the  rest  of  his  will  was  as  punctually  performed. 
And  when  I  have  —  to  his  just  praise  —  told  this  truth,  "  that  he 
died  far  from  being  rich,"  I  shall  return  back  to  visit,  and  give  a 
further  account  of  him  on  his  last  sick-bed. 

His  last  will  —  of  which  I  have  mentioned  a  part  —  was  made 
about  three  weeks  before  his  death,  about  which  time,  finding  his 
strength  to  decay,  by  reason  of  his  constant  infirmity,  and  a  con- 
sumptive cough  added  to  it,  he  retired  to  his  chamber,  expressing 
a  desire  to  enjoy  his  last  thoughts  to  himself  in  private,  without  dis- 
turbance or  care,  especially  of  what  might  concern  this  world.  And 
that  none  of  his  clergy — which  are  more  numerous  than  any  other 
bishop's  —  might  suffer  by  his  retirement,  he  did  by  commission 
empower  his  chaplain,  Mr.  Pullin,  with  episcopal  power  to  give 

1  Should  be  1663. 


l8o  IZAAK  WALTON 

institutions  to  all  livings  or  Church  preferments,  during  this  his 
disability  to  do  it  himself.  In  this  time  of  his  retirement  he  longed 
for  his  dissolution ;  and  when  some  that  loved  him  prayed  for  his 
recovery,  if  he  at  any  time  found  any  amendment,  he  seemed  to  be 
displeased,  by  saying,  "  His  friends  said  their  prayers  backward  for 
him :  and  that  it  was  not  his  desire  to  live  a  useless  life,  and  by  fill- 
ing up  a  place  keep  another  out  of  it,  that  might  do  God  and  his 
Church  service."  He  would  often  with  much  joy  and  thankful- 
ness mention,  "  That  during  his  being  a  housekeeper  —  which 
was  more  than  forty  years — there  had  not  been  one  buried  out 
of  his  family,  and  that  he  was  now  like  to  be  the  first."  He 
would  also  often  mention  with  thankfulness,  "That  till  he  was 
threescore  years  of  age,  he  had  never  spent  five  shillings  in  law, 
nor  —  upon  himself  —  so  much  in  wine :  and  rejoiced  much  that 
he  had  so  lived  as  never  to  cause  an  hour's  sorrow  to  his  good 
father;  and  hoped  he  should  die  without  an  enemy. " 

He,  in  his  retirement,  had  the  Church  prayers  read  in  his 
chamber  twice  every  day;  and  at  nine  at  night,  some  prayers 
read  to  him  and  a  part  of  his  family  out  of  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man. 
As  he  was  remarkably  punctual  and  regular  in  all  his  studies 
and  actions,  so  he  used  himself  to  be  for  his  meals.  And  his  dinner 
being  appointed  to  be  constantly  ready  at  the  ending  of  prayers, 
and  he  expecting  and  calling  for  it,  was  answered,  "  It  would  be 
ready  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour."  To  which  his  reply  was,  "  A 
quarter  of  an  hour!  Is  a  quarter  of  an  hour  nothing  to  a 
man  that  probably  has  not  many  hours  to  live?"  And  though 
he  did  live  many  hours  after  this,  yet  he  lived  not  many  days ;  for 
the  day  after  —  which  was  three  days  before  his  death  —  he  was 
become  so  weak  and  weary  of  either  motion  or  sitting,  that  he  was 
content,  or  forced,  to  keep  his  bed :  in  which  I  desire  he  may  rest, 
till  I  have  given  some  account  of  his  behaviour  there  and  imme- 
diately before  it. 

The  day  before  he  took  his  bed, — which  was  three  days  before 
his  death,  —  he,  that  he  might  receive  a  new  assurance  for  the 
pardon  of  his  sins  past,  and  be  strengthened  in  his  way  to  the  New 
Jerusalem,  took  the  blessed  Sacrament  of  the  Body  and  Blood  of  his 
and  our  blessed  Jesus,  from  the  hands  of  his  chaplain,  Mr.  Pullin, 
accompanied  with  his  wife,  children,  and  a  friend,  in  as  awful, 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   ROBERT  SANDERSON  181 

humble,  and  ardent  a  manner  as  outward  reverence  could  express. 
After  the  praise  and  thanksgiving  for  it  was  ended,  he  spake  to 
this  purpose :  "  Thou,  O  God !  tookest  me  out  of  my  mother's 
womb,  and  hast  been  the  powerful  protector  of  me  to  this  present 
moment  of  my  life:  Thou  hast  neither  forsaken  me  now  I  am 
become  grey-headed,  nor  suffered  me  to  forsake  thee  in  the  late 
days  of  temptation,  and  sacrifice  my  conscience  for  the  preservation 
of  my  liberty  or  estate.  It  was  by  grace  that  I  have  stood,  when 
others  have  fallen  under  my  trials:  and  these  mercies  I  now  re- 
member with  joy  and  thankfulness;  and  my  hope  and  desire  is, 
that  I  may  die  praising  thee." 

The  frequent  repetition  of  the  Psalms  of  David  hath  been 
noted  to  a  great  part  of  the  devotion  of  the  primitive  Christians; 
the  Psalms  having  in  them  not  only  prayers  and  holy  instructions, 
but  such  commemorations  of  God's  mercies  as  may  preserve, 
comfort,  and  confirm  our  dependence  on  the  power,  and  providence, 
and  mercy  of  our  Creator.  And  this  is  mentioned  in  order  to 
telling,  that  as  the  holy  Psalmist  said,  that  his  eyes  should  prevent 
both  the  dawning  of  the  day  and  night  watches,  by  meditating  on 
God's  word  (Psal.  cxix.  147),  so  it  was  Dr.  Sanderson's  constant 
practice  every  morning  to  entertain  his  first  waking  thoughts  with 
a  repetition  of  those  very  psalms  that  the  Church  hath  appointed  to 
be  constantly  read  in  the  daily  morning  service:  and  having  at 
night  laid  him  in  his  bed,  he  as  constantly  closed  his  eyes  with  a 
repetition  of  those  appointed  for  the  service  of  the  evening,  remem- 
bering and  repeating  the  very  Psalms  appointed  for  every  day ;  and 
as  the  month  had  formerly  ended  and  began  again,  so  did  this  exer- 
cise of  his  devotion.  And  if  his  first  waking  thoughts  were  of  the 
world,  or  what  concerned  it,  he  would  arraign  and  condemn  him- 
self for  it.  Thus  he  began  that  work  on  earth,  which  is  now  his 
employment  in  heaven. 

After  his  taking  his  bed,  and  about  a  day  before  his  death,  he 
desired  his  chaplain,  Mr.  Pullin,  to  give  him  absolution :  and  at  his 
performing  that  office,  he  pulled  off  his  cap,  that  Mr.  Pullin 
might  lay  his  hand  upon  his  bare  head.  After  this  desire  of  his 
was  satisfied,  his  body  seemed  to  be  at  more  ease,  and  his  mind  more 
cheerful;  and  he  said,  "Lord,  forsake  me  not  now  my  strength 
faileth  me;  but  continue  thy  mercy,  and,  let  my  mouth  be  filled 


1 82  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

with  thy  praise. "  He  continued  the  remaining  night  and  day  very 
patient,  and  thankful  for  any  of  the  little  offices  that  were  performed 
for  his  ease  and  refreshment :  and  during  that  time  did  often  say  the 
i03rd  Psalm  to  himself,  and  very  often  these  words,  "My  heart  is 
fixed,  O  God !  my  heart  is  fixed  where  true  joy  is  to  be  found. " 
His  thoughts  seemed  now  to  be  wholly  of  death,  for  which  he  was  so 
prepared,  that  the  King  of  Terrors  could  not  surprise  him  as  a  thief 
in  the  night ;  for  he  had  often  said,  he  was  prepared,  and  longed  for 
it.  And  as  this  desire  seemed  to  come  from  heaven,  so  it  left  him 
not  till  his  soul  ascended  to  that  region  of  blessed  spirits,  whose 
employments  are  to  join  in  concert  with  him,  and  sing  praise  and 
glory  to  that  God,  who  hath  brought  them  to  that  place,  into  which 
sin  and  sorrow  cannot  enter. 

Thus  this  pattern  of  meekness  and  primitive  innocence  changed 
this  for  a  better  life.  'Tis  now  too  late  to  wish  that  my  life  may  be 
like  his ;  for  I  am  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  my  age :  but  I  humbly 
beseech  Almighty  God,  that  my  death  may:  and  do  as  earnestly 
beg  of  every  reader,  to  say,  —  Amen. 

Blessed  is  the  man  in  whose  spirit  there  is  no  guile,  Psal.  xxxii.  2. 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

THE  LIFE   OF  POPE 

[From  The  Lives  of  the  Most  Eminent  English  Poets,  1779-1781.  Cor- 
rected Edition,  London,  1800. 

"His  [Johnson's]  knowledge  of  the  literary  history  of  England  since  the 
Restoration  was  unrivalled.  That  knowledge  he  had  derived  partly  from 
books,  and  partly  from  sources  which  had  long  been  closed;  from  old  Grub 
Street  traditions;  from  the  talk  of  forgotten  poetasters  and  pamphleteers 
who  had  long  been  lying  in  parish  vaults ;  from  the  recollections  of  such  men 
as  Gilbert  Walmesley,  who  had  conversed  with  the  wits  of  Button's;  Gibber, 
who  had  mutilated  the  plays  of  two  generation  of  dramatists;  Orrery,  who 
had  been  admitted  to  the  society  of  Swift;  and  Savage,  who  had  rendered 
services  of  no  very  honourable  kind  to  Pope.  The  biographer  therefore  sate 
down  to  his  task  with  a  mind  full  of  matter.  He  had  at  first  intended  to  give 
only  a  paragraph  to  every  minor  poet,  and  only  four  or  five  pages  to  the  great- 
est name.  But  the  flood  of  anecdote  and  criticism  overflowed  the  narrow 
channel.  The  work,  which  was  originally  meant  to  consist  only  of  a  few  sheets, 
swelled  into  ten  volumes,  small  volumes,  it  is  true,  and  not  closely  printed. 
The  first  four  appeared  in  1779,  the  remaining  six  in  1781. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  183 

"  The  Lives  of  the  Poets  are,  on  the  whole,  the  best  of  Johnson's  works. 
The  narratives  are  as  entertaining  as  any  novel.  The  remarks  on  life  and 
on  human  nature  are  eminently  shrewd  and  profound.  The  criticisms  are 
often  excellent,  and,  even  when  grossly  and  provokingly  unjust,  well  deserve 
to  be  studied.  For,  however  erroneous  they  may  be,  they  are  never  silly. 
They  are  the  judgments  of  a  mind  trammelled  by  prejudice  and  deficient  in 
sensibility,  but  vigorous  and  acute.  They  therefore  generally  contain  a 
portion  of  valuable  truth  which  deserves  to  be  separated  from  the  alloy;  and, 
at  the  very  worst,  they  mean  something,  a  praise  to  which  much  of  what  is 
called  criticism  in  our  time  has  no  pretensions. 

"  Savage's  Life  Johnson  reprinted  nearly  as  it  had  appeared  in  1744.  Who- 
ever, after  reading  that  life,  will  turn  to  the  other  lives  will  be  struck  by  the 
difference  of  style.  Since  Johnson  had  been  at  ease  in  his  circumstances  he 
had  written  little  and  had  talked  much.  When,  therefore,  he,  after  the  lapse 
of  years,  resumed  his  pen,  the  mannerism  which  he  had  contracted  while  he 
was  in  the  constant  habit  of  elaborate  composition  was  less  perceptible  than 
formerly;  and  his  diction  frequently  had  a  colloquial  ease  which  it  had 
formerly  wanted."  —  THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY,  "The  Life  of 
Samuel  Johnson,"  1856,  in  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays.} 

Alexander  Pope  was  born  in  London,  May  22,  1688,  of  parents 
whose  rank  or  station  was  never  ascertained:  we  are  informed 
that  they  were  of  gentle  blood;  that  his  father  was  of  a  family  of 
which  the  Earl  of  Downe  was  the  head,  and  that  his  mother  was 
the  daughter  of  William  Turner,  Esquire,  of  York,  who  had  like- 
wise three  sons,  one  of  whom  had  the  honour  of  being  killed,  and 
the  other  of  dying,  in  the  service  of  Charles  the  First;  the  third 
was  made  a  general  officer  in  Spain,  from  whom  the  sister  inherited 
what  sequestrations  and  forfeitures  had  left  in  the  family. 

This,  and  this  only,  is  told  by  Pope ;  who  is  more  willing,  as  I  have 
heard  observed,  to  shew  what  his  father  was  not,  than  what  he  was. 
It  is  allowed  that  he  grew  rich  by  trade ;  but  whether  in  a  shop  or  on 
the  Exchange  was  never  discovered,  till  Mr.  Tyers  told,  on  the 
authority  of  Mrs.  Racket,  that  he  was  a  linen-draper  in  the  Strand. 
Both  parents  were  papists. 

Pope  was  from  his  birth  of  a  constitution  tender  and  delicate; 
but  is  said  to  have  shewn  remarkable  gentleness  and  sweetness  of 
disposition.  The  weakness  of  his  body  continued  through  his  life, 
but  the  mildness  of  his  mind  perhaps  ended  with  his  childhood. 
His  voice,  when  he  was  young,  was  so  pleasing,  that  he  was  called 
in  fondness  the  little  Nightingale. 

Being  not  sent  early  to  school,  he  was  taught  to  read  by  an  aunt; 
and  when  he  was  seven  or  eight  years  old,  became  a  lover  of  books. 


1 84  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

He  first  learned  to  write  by  imitating  printed  books;  a  species  of 
penmanship  in  which  he  retained  great  excellence  through  his 
whole  life,  though  his  ordinary  hand  was  not  elegant. 

When  he  was  about  eight,  he  was  placed  in  Hampshire  under 
Taverner,  a  Romish  priest,  who,  by  a  method  very  rarely  practised, 
taught  him  the  Greek  and  Latin  rudiments  together.  He  was  now 
first  regularly  initiated  in  poetry  by  the  persual  of  Ogylby's 
Homer,  and  Sandys 's  Ovid:  Ogylby's  assistance  he  never  repaid 
with  any  praise;  but  of  Sandys  he  declared,  in  his  notes  to  the 
Iliad,  that  English  poetry  owed  much  of  its  present  beauty  to  his 
translations.  Sandys  very  rarely  attempted  original  compositions. 

From  the  care  of  Taverner,  under  whom  his  proficiency  was 
considerable,  he  was  removed  to  a  school  at  Twyford  near  Winches- 
ter, and  again  to  another  school  about  Hyde-park  Corner;  from 
which  he  used  sometimes  to  stroll  to  the  playhouse,  and  was  so 
delighted  with  theatrical  exhibitions,  that  he  formed  a  kind  of 
play  from  Ogylby's  Iliad,  with  some  verses  of  his  own  intermixed, 
which  he  persuaded  his  school-fellows  to  act,  with  the  addition  of 
his  master's  gardener,  who  personated  Ajax. 

At  the  two  last  schools  he  used  to  represent  himself  as  having 
lost  part  of  what  Taverner  had  taught  him,  and  on  his  master  at 
Twyford  he  had  already  exercised  his  poetry  in  a  lampoon. 
Yet  under  those  masters  he  translated  more  than  a  fourth  part  of 
the  Metamorphoses.  If  he  kept  the  same  proportion  in  his  other 
exercises,  it  cannot  be  thought  that  his  loss  was  great. 

He  tells  of  himself,  in  his  poems,  that  he  lisp'd  in  numbers;  and 
used  to  say  that  he  could  not  remember  the  time  when  he  began 
to  make  verses.  In  the  style  of  fiction  it  might  have  been  said  of 
him  as  of  Pindar,  that  when  he  lay  in  his  cradle,  the  bees  swarmed 
about  his  mouth. 

About  the  time  of  the  Revolution  his  father,  who  was  un- 
doubtedly disappointed  by  the  sudden  blast  of  popish  prosperity, 
quitted  his  trade,  and  retired  to  Binfield  in  Windsor  Forest,  with 
about  twenty  thousand  pounds;  for  which,  being  conscientiously 
determined  not  to  entrust  it  to  the  government,  he  found  no  better 
use  than  that  of  locking  it  up  in  a  chest,  and  taking  from  it  what 
his  expenses  required ;  and  his  life  was  long  enough  to  consume  a 
great  part  of  it,  before  his  son  came  to  the  inheritance. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  185 

To  Binfield  Pope  was  called  by  his  father  when  he  was  about 
twelve  years  old ;  and  there  he  had  for  a  few  months  the  assistance 
of  one  Deane,  another  priest,  of  whom  he  learned  only  to  construe 
a  little  of  Tulles  Offices.  How  Mr.  Deane  could  spend,  with  a 
boy  who  had  translated  so  much  of  Ovid,  some  months  over  a 
small  part  of  Tidly^s  Offices,  it  is  now  vain  to  enquire. 

Of  a  youth  so  successfully  employed,  and  so  conspicuously 
improved,  a  minute  account  must  be  naturally  desired ;  but  curios- 
ity must  be  contented  with  confused,  imperfect,  and  sometimes 
improbable  intelligence.  Pope,  finding  little  advantage  from 
external  help,  resolved  thenceforward  to  direct  himself,  and  at 
twelve  formed  a  plan  of  study  which  he  completed  with  little  other 
incitement  than  the  desire  of  excellence. 

His  primary  and  principal  purpose  was  to  be  a  poet,  with  which 
his  father  accidentally  concurred,  by  proposing  subjects,  and  oblig- 
ing him  to  correct  his  performances  by  many  revisals ;  after  which 
the  old  gentleman,  when  he  was  satisfied,  would  say,  these  are 
good  rhymes. 

In  his  perusal  of  the  English  poets  he  soon  distinguished  the 
versification  of  Dryden,  which  he  considered  as  the  model  to  be 
studied,  and  was  impressed  with  such  veneration  for  his  instructor, 
that  he  persuaded  some  friends  to  take  him  to  the  coffee-house 
which  Dryden  frequented,  and  pleased  himself  with  having  seen  him. 

Dryden  died  May  i,  1701,  some  days  before  Pope  was  twelve; 
so  early  must  he  therefore  have  felt  the  power  of  harmony,  and 
the  zeal  of  genius.  Who  does  not  wish  that  Dryden  could  have 
known  the  value  of  the  homage  that  was  paid  him,  and  foreseen 
the  greatness  of  his  young  admirer  ? 

The  earliest  of  Pope's  productions  is  his  Ode  on  Solitude,  written 
before  he  was  twelve,  in  which  there  is  nothing  more  than  other 
forward  boys  have  attained,  and  which  is  not  equal  to  Cowley's 
performances  at  the  same  age. 

His  time  was  now  wholly  spent  in  reading  and  writing.  As  he 
read  the  Classicks,  he  amused  himself  with  translating  them ;  and 
at  fourteen  made  a  version  of  the  first  book  of  the  Thebais,  which, 
with  some  revision,  he  afterwards  published.  He  must  have  been 
at  this  time,  if  he  had  no  help,  a  considerable  proficient  in  the 
Latin  tongue. 


l86  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

By  Dryden's  Fables,  which  had  then  been  not  long  published, 
and  were  much  in  the  hands  of  poetical  readers,  he  was  tempted 
to  try  his  own  skill  in  giving  Chaucer  a  more  fashionable  ap- 
pearance, and  put  January  and  May,  and  the  Prologue  of  the  Wife  of 
Bath,  into  modern  English.  He  translated  likewise  the  Epistle 
of  Sappho  to  Phaon  from  Ovid,  to  complete  the  version,  which 
was  before  imperfect;  and  wrote  some  other  small  pieces,  which 
he  afterwards  printed. 

He  sometimes  imitated  the  English  poets,  and  professed  to 
have  written  at  fourteen  his  poem  upon  Silence,  after  Rochester's 
Nothing.  He  had  now  formed  his  versification,  and  in  the  smooth- 
ness of  his  numbers  surpassed  his  original:  but  this  is  a  small 
part  of  his  praise ;  he  discovers  such  acquaintance  both  with  human 
and  publick  affairs,  as  is  not  easily  conceived  to  have  been  attain- 
able by  a  boy  of  fourteen  in  Windsor  Forest. 

Next  year  he  was  desirous  of  opening  to  himself  new  sources  of 
knowledge,  by  making  himself  acquainted  with  modern  languages ; 
and  removed  for  a  time  to  London,  that  he  might  study  French  and 
Italian,  which,  as  he  desired  nothing  more  than  to  read  them, 
were  by  diligent  application  soon  dispatched.  Of  Italian  learning 
he  does  not  appear  to  have  ever  made  much  use  in  his  subsequent 
studies. 

He  then  returned  to  Binfield,  and  delighted  himself  with  his 
own  poetry.  He  tried  all  styles,  and  many  subjects.  He  wrote  a 
comedy,  a  tragedy,  an  epick  poem,  with  panegyricks  on  all  the 
princes  of  Europe;  and,  as  he  confesses,  thought  himself  the 
greatest  genius  that  ever  was.  Self-confidence  is  the  first  requisite 
to  great  undertakings;  he,  indeed,  who  forms  his  opinion  of  him- 
self in  solitude,  without  knowing  the  powers  of  other  men,  is  very 
liable  to  errour;  but  it  was  the  felicity  of  Pope  to  rate  himself  at 
his  real  value. 

Most  of  his  puerile  productions  were,  by  his  maturer  judgment, 
afterwards  destroyed;  Alcander,  the  epick  poem,  was  burned  by 
the  persuasion  of  Atterbury.  The  tragedy  was  founded  on  the 
legend  of  St.  Genevieve.  Of  the  comedy  there  is  no  account. 

Concerning  his  studies  it  is  related,  that  he  translated  Tully  on 
Old  Age;  and  that,  besides  his  books  of  poetry  and  criticism,  he 
read  Temple's  Essays  and  Locke  on  Human  Understanding.  His 


THE  LIFE  OF   POPE  187 

reading,  though  his  favourite  authors  are  not  known,  appears  to 
have  been  sufficiently  extensive  and  multifarious;  for  his  early 
pieces  shew,  with  sufficient  evidence,  his  knowledge  of  books. 

He  that  is  pleased  with  himself,  easily  imagines  that  he  shall 
please  others.  Sir  William  Trumbal,  who  had  been  ambassador 
at  Constantinople,  and  secretary  of  state,  when  he  retired  from 
business,  fixed  his  residence  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Binfield. 
Pope,  not  yet  sixteen,  was  introduced  to  the  statesman  of  sixty, 
and  so  distinguished  himself,  that  their  interviews  ended  in  friend- 
ship and  correspondence.  Pope  was,  through  his  whole  life,  am- 
bitious of  splendid  acquaintance,  and  he  seems  to  have  wanted 
neither  diligence  nor  success  in  attracting  the  notice  of  the  great; 
for  from  his  first  entrance  into  the  world,  and  his  entrance  was 
very  early,  he  was  admitted  to  familiarity  with  those  whose  rank 
or  station  made  them  most  conspicuous. 

From  the  age  of  sixteen  the  life  of  Pope,  as  an  author,  may  be 
properly  computed.  He  now  wrote  his  Pastorals,  which  were 
shewn  to  the  Poets  and  Criticks  of  that  time ;  as  they  well  deserved, 
they  were  read  with  admiration,  and  many  praises  were  bestowed 
upon  them  and  upon  the  Preface,  which  is  both  elegant  and  learned 
in  a  high  degree :  they  were,  however,  not  published  till  five  years 
afterwards. 

Cowley,  Milton,  and  Pope,  are  distinguished  among  the  English 
Poets  by  the  early  exertion  of  their  powers ;  but  the  works  of  Cow- 
ley  alone  were  published  in  his  childhood,  and  therefore  of  him 
only  can  it  be  certain  that  his  puerile  performances  received  no 
improvement  from  his  maturer  studies. 

At  this  time  began  his  acquaintance  with  Wycherley,  a  man  who 
seems  to  have  had  among  his  contemporaries  his  full  share  of 
reputation,  to  have  been  esteemed  without  virtue,  and  caressed 
without  good-humour.  Pope  was  proud  of  his  notice ;  Wycherley 
wrote  verses  in  his  praise,  which  he  was  charged  by  Dennis  with 
writing  to  himself,  and  they  agreed  for  a  while  to  flatter  one  another. 
It  is  pleasant  to  remark  how  soon  Pope  learned  the  cant  of  an 
author,  and  began  to  treat  criticks  with  contempt,  though  he  had 
yet  suffered  nothing  from  them. 

But  the  fondness  of  Wycherley  was  too  violent  to  last.  His 
esteem  of  Pope  was  such,  that  he  submitted  some  poems  to  his 


1 88  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

revision ;  and  when  Pope,  perhaps  proud  of  such  confidence,  was 
sufficiently  bold  in  his  criticisms,  and  liberal  in  his  alterations, 
the  old  scribbler  was  angry  to  see  his  pages  defaced,  and  felt  more 
pain  from  the  detection  than  content  from  the  amendment  of 
his  faults.  They  parted;  but  Pope  always  considered  him  with 
kindness,  and  visited  him  a  little  time  before  he  died. 

Another  of  his  early  correspondents  was  Mr.  Cromwell,  of  whom 
I  have  learned  nothing  particular  but  that  he  used  to  ride  a-hunting 
in  a  tye-wig.  He  was  fond,  and  perhaps  vain,  of  amusing  himself 
with  poetry  and  criticism;  and  sometimes  sent  his  performances 
to  Pope,  who  did  not  forbear  such  remarks  as  were  now  and  then 
unwelcome.  Pope,  in  his  turn,  put  the  juvenile  version  of  Statins 
into  his  hands  for  correction. 

Their  correspondence  afforded  the  publick  its  first  knowledge 
of  Pope's  epistolary  powers ;  for  his  Letters  were  given  by  Cromwell 
to  one  Mrs.  Thomas,  and  she  many  years  afterwards  sold  them  to 
Curll,  who  inserted  them  in  a  volume  of  his  Miscellanies. 

Walsh,  a  name  yet  preserved  among  the  minor  poets,  was  one 
of  his  first  encouragers.  His  regard  was  gained  by  the  Pastorals, 
and  from  him  Pope  received  the  counsel  by  which  he  seems  to  have 
regulated  his  studies.  Walsh  advised  him  to  correctness,  which, 
as  he  told  him,  the  English  poets  had  hitherto  neglected,  and  which 
therefore  was  left  to  him  as  a  basis  of  fame ;  and,  being  delighted 
with  rural  poems,  recommended  to  him  to  write  a  pastoral  comedy, 
like  those  which  are  read  so  eagerly  in  Italy ;  a  design  which  Pope 
probably  did  not  approve,  as  he  did  not  follow  it. 

Pope  had  now  declared  himself  a  poet;  and,  thinking  himself 
entitled  to  poetical  conversation,  began  at  seventeen  to  frequent 
Will's,  a  coffee-house  on  the  north  side  of  Russell-street  in  Covent- 
garden,  where  the  wits  of  that  time  used  to  assemble,  and  where 
Dryden  had,  when  he  lived,  been  accustomed  to  preside. 

During  this  period  of  his  life  he  was  indefatigably  diligent,  and 
insatiably  curious;  wanting  health  for  violent,  and  money  for 
expensive  pleasures,  and  having  certainly  excited  in  himself  very 
strong  desires  of  intellectual  eminence,  he  spent  much  of  his  time 
over  his  books;  but  he  read  only  to  store  his  mind  with  facts 
and  images,  seizing  all  that  his  authors  presented  with  undistin- 
guishing  voracity,  and  with  an  appetite  for  knowledge  too  eager  to 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  189 

be  nice.  —  In  a  mind  like  his,  however,  all  the  faculties  were  at  once 
involuntarily  improving.  Judgement  is  forced  upon  us  by  experi- 
ence. He  that  reads  many  books  must  compare  one  opinion  or 
one  style  with  another;  and  when  he  compares,  must  necessarily 
distinguish,  reject,  and  prefer.  But  the  account  given  by  himself 
of  his  studies  was,  that  from  fourteen  to  twenty  he  read  only  for 
amusement,  from  twenty  to  twenty-seven  for  improvement  and 
instruction;  that  in  the  first  part  of  this  time  he  desired  only  to 
know,  and  in  the  second  he  endeavoured  to  judge. 

The  Pastorals,  which  had  been  for  some  time  handed  about 
among  poets  and  cri ticks,  were  at  last  printed  (1709)  in  Tonson's 
Miscellany,  in  a  volume  which  began  with  the  Pastorals  of  Philips, 
and  ended  with  those  of  Pope. 

The  same  year  was  written  the  Essay  on  Criticism;  a  work  which 
displays  such  extent  of  comprehension,  such  nicety  of  distinction, 
such  acquaintance  with  mankind,  and  such  knowledge  both  of 
ancient  and  modern  learning,  as  are  not  often  attained  by  the 
maturest  age  and  longest  experience.  It  was  published  about  two 
years  afterwards,  and  being  praised  by  Addison  in  the  Spectator 
with  sufficient  liberality,  met  with  so  much  favor  as  enraged  Dennis, 
'who,'  he  says,  'found  himself  attacked  without  any  manner  of 
provocation  on  his  side,  and  attacked  in  his  person,  instead  of  his 
writings,  by  one  who  was  wholly  a  stranger  to  him,  at  a  time  when 
all  the  world  knew  he  was  persecuted  by  fortune ;  and  not  only  saw 
that  this  was  attempted  in  a  clandestine  manner,  with  the  utmost 
falsehood  and  calumny,  but  found  that  all  this  was  done  by  a  little 
affected  hypocrite,  who  had  nothing  in  his  mouth  at  the  same  time 
but  truth,  candour,  friendship,  good-nature,  humanity,  and  mag- 
nanimity.' 

How  the  attack  was  clandestine  is  not  easily  perceived,  nor  how 
his  person  is  depreciated ;  but  he  seems  to  have  known  something 
of  Pope's  character,  in  whom  may  be  discovered  an  appetite  to  talk 
too  frequently  of  his  own  virtues. 

The  pamphlet  is  such  as  rage  might  be  expected  to  dictate. 
He  supposes  himself  to  be  asked  two  questions ;  whether  the  Essay 
will  succeed,  and  who  or  what  is  the  author. 

Its  success  he  admits  to  be  secured  by  the  false  opinions  then 
prevalent ;  the  author  he  concludes  to  be  young  and  raw. 


190  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

'  First,  because  he  discovers  a  sufficiency  beyond  his  little  ability, 
and  hath  rashly  undertaken  a  task  infinitely  above  his  force. 
Secondly,  while  this  little  author  struts,  and  affects  the  dictatorian 
air,  he  plainly  shews  that  at  the  same  time  he  is  under  the  rod;  and 
while  he  pretends  to  give  law  to  others,  is  a  pedantick  slave  to 
authority  and  opinion.  Thirdly,  he  hath,  like  schoolboys,  bor- 
rowed both  from  living  and  dead.  Fourthly,  he  knows  not  his 
own  mind,  and  frequently  contradicts  himself.  Fifthly,  he  is  al- 
most perpetually  in  the  wrong.' 

All  these  positions  he  attempts  to  prove  by  quotations  and  re- 
marks; but  his  desire  to  do  mischief  is  greater  than  his  power. 
He  has,  however,  justly  criticised  some  passages:  in  these  lines, 

There  are  whom  heaven  has  bless'd  with  store  of  wit, 
Yet  want  as  much  again  to  manage  it; 
For  wit  and  judgement  ever  are  at  strife  — 

it  is  apparent  that  wit  has  two  meanings,  and  that  what  is  wanted, 
though  called  wit,  is  truly  judgement.  So  far  Dennis  is  undoubtedly 
right;  but,  not  content  with  argument,  he  will  have  a  little  mirth, 
and  triumphs  over  the  first  couplet  in  terms  too  elegant  to  be 
forgotten.  'By  the  way,  what  rare  numbers  are  here!  Would 
not  one  swear  that  this  youngster  had  espoused  some  antiquated 
Muse,  who  had  sued  out  a  divorce  on  account  of  impotence  from 
some  superannuated  sinner;  and,  having  been  p — xed  by  her 
former  spouse,  has  got  the  gout  in  her  decrepit  age,  which  makes 
her  hobble  so  damnably.'  This  was  the  man  who  would  reform 
a  nation  sinking  into  barbarity. 

In  another  place  Pope  himself  allowed  that  Dennis  had  detected 
one  of  those  blunders  which  are  called  bulls.  The  first  edition  had 
this  line : 

What  is  this  wit  — 

Where  wanted,  scorn'd ;  and  envied  where  acquir'd  ? 

'How,'  says  the  critick,  'can  wit  be  scorn'd  where  it  is  not?  Is 
not  this  a  figure  frequently  employed  in  Hibernian  land?  The 
person  that  wants  this  wit  may  indeed  be  scorned,  but  the  scorn 
shews  the  honour  which  the  contemner  has  for  wit.'  Of  this  re- 
mark Pope  made  the  proper  use,  by  correcting  the  passage. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  191 

I  have  preserved,  I  think,  all  that  is  reasonable  in  Dennis's 
criticism;  it  remains  that  justice  be  done  to  his  delicacy.  'For 
his  acquaintance  (says  Dennis)  he  names  Mr.  Walsh,  who  had  by 
no  means  the  qualification  which  this  author  reckons  absolutely 
necessary  to  a  critick,  it  being  very  certain  that  he  was,  like 
this  Essayer,  a  very  indifferent  poet ;  he  loved  to  be  well-dressed ; 
and  I  remember  a  little  young  gentleman  whom  Mr.  Walsh  used 
to  take  into  his  company,  as  a  double  foil  to  his  person  and  capacity, 
.  .  .  Enquire  between  Sunninghill  and  Oakingham  for  a  young, 
short,  squab  gentleman,  the  very  bow  of  the  God  of  Love,  and  tell 
me  whether  he  be  a  proper  author  to  make  personal  reflections? 
-  He  may  extol  the  antients,  but  he  has  reason  to  thank  the  gods 
that  he  was  born  a  modern;  for  had  he  been  born  of  Grecian 
parents,  and  his  father  consequently  had  by  law  had  the  absolute 
disposal  of  him,  his  life  had  been  no  longer  than  that  of  one  of  his 
poems,  the  life  of  half  a  day.  —  Let  the  person  of  a  gentleman  of 
his  parts  be  never  so  contemptible,  his  inward  man  is  ten  times 
more  ridiculous ;  it  being  impossible  that  his  outward  form,  though 
it  be  that  of  downright  monkey,  should  differ  so  much  from  human 
shape,  as  his  unthinking  immaterial  part  does  from  human  under- 
standing.' Thus  began  the  hostility  between  Pope  and  Dennis, 
which,  though  it  was  suspended  for  a  short  time,  never  was  ap- 
peased. Pope  seems,  at  first,  to  have  attacked  him  wantonly; 
but  though  he  always  professed  to  despise  him,  he  discovers,  by 
mentioning  him  very  often,  that  he  felt  his  force  or  his  venom. 

Of  this  Essay  Pope  declared  that  he  did  not  expect  the  sale  to  be 
quick,  because  not  one  gentleman  in  sixty,  even  of  liberal  education, 
could  understand  it.  The  gentlemen,  and  the  education  of  that 
time,  seem  to  have  been  of  a  lower  character  than  they  are  of  this. 
He  mentioned  a  thousand  copies  as  a  numerous  impression. 

Dennis  was  not  his  only  censurer;  the  zealous  papists  thought 
the  monks  treated  with  too  much  contempt,  and  Erasmus  too 
studiously  praised;  but  to  these  objections  he  had  not  much  re- 
gard. 

The  Essay  has  been  translated  into  French  by  Hamilton, 
author  of  the  Comte  de  Grammont,  whose  version  was  never  printed, 
by  Roboth  am  secretary  to  the  King  for  Hanover,  and  by  Resnel; 
and  commented  by  Dr.  Warburton,  who  has  discovered  in  it 


192  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

such  order  and  connection  as  was  not  perceived  by  Addison,  nor, 
as  is  said,  intended  by  the  author. 

Almost  every  poem,  consisting  of  precepts,  is  so  far  arbitrary 
and  immethodical,  that  many  of  the  paragraphs  may  change  places 
with  no  apparent  inconvenience;  for  of  two  or  more  positions, 
depending  upon  some  remote  and  general  principle,  there  is  seldom 
any  cogent  reason  why  one  should  precede  the  other.  But  for  the 
order  in  which  they  stand,  whatever  it  be,  a  little  ingenuity  may 
easily  give  a  reason.  //  is  possible,  says  Hooker,  that  by  long  cir- 
cumduction,  from  any  one  truth  all  truth  may  be  inferred.  Of  all 
homogeneous  truths  at  least,  of  all  truths  respecting  the  same  general 
end,  in  whatever  series  they  may  be  produced,  a  concatenation  by 
intermediate  ideas  may  be  formed,  such  as,  when  it  is  once  shewn, 
shall  appear  natural ;  but  if  this  order  be  reversed,  another  mode 
of  connection  equally  specious  may  be  found  or  made.  Aristotle 
is  praised  for  naming  Fortitude  first  of  the  cardinal  virtues,  as  that 
without  which  no  other  virtue  can  steadily  be  practised;  but 
he  might,  with  equal  propriety,  have  placed  Prudence  and  Justice 
before  it,  since  without  Prudence  Fortitude  is  mad;  without 
Justice,  it  is  mischievous. 

As  the  end  of  method  is  perspicuity,  that  series  is  sufficiently 
regular  that  avoids  obscurity;  and  where  there  is  no  obscurity 
it  will  not  be  difficult  to  discover  method. 

In  the  Spectator  was  published  the  Messiah,  which  he  first  sub- 
mitted to  the  perusal  of  Steele,  and  corrected  in  compliance  with  his 
criticisms. 

It  is  reasonable  to  infer,  from  his  Letters,  that  the  verses  on  the 
Unfortunate  Lady  were  written  about  the  time  when  his  Essay 
was  published.  The  Lady's  name  and  adventures  I  have  sought 
with  fruitless  enquiry. 

I  can  therefore  tell  no  more  than  I  have  learned  from  Mr.  Ruff- 
head,  who  writes  with  the  confidence  of  one  who  could  trust  his 
information.  She  was  a  woman  of  eminent  rank  and  large  fortune, 
the  ward  of  an  unkle,  who,  having  given  her  a  proper  education, 
expected  like  other  guardians  that  she  should  make  at  least  an 
equal  match ;  and  such  he  proposed  to  her,  but  found  it  rejected 
in  favour  of  a  young  gentleman  of  inferior  condition. 

Having  discovered  the  correspondence  between  the  two  lovers, 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  193 

and  finding  the  young  lady  determined  to  abide  by  her  own  choice, 
he  supposed  that  separation  might  do  what  can  rarely  be  done  by 
arguments,  and  sent  her  into  a  foreign  country,  where  she  was 
obliged  to  converse  only  with  those  from  whom  her  unkle  had 
nothing  to  fear. 

Her  lover  took  care  to  repeat  his  vows ;  but  his  letters  were  inter- 
cepted and  carried  to  her  guardian,  who  directed  her  to  be  watched 
with  still  greater  vigilance;  till  of  this  restraint  she  grew  so  im- 
patient, that  she  bribed  a  woman-servant  to  procure  her  a  sword, 
which  she  directed  to  her  heart. 

From  this  account,  given  with  evident  intention  to  raise  the 
Lady's  character,  it  does  not  appear  that  she  had  any  claim  to 
praise,  nor  much  to  compassion.  She  seems  to  have  been  im- 
patient, violent,  and  ungovernable.  Her  unkle's  power  could  not 
have  lasted  long;  the  hour  of  liberty  and  choice  would  have 
come  in  time.  But  her  desires  were  too  hot  for  delay,  and  she 
liked  self-murder  better  than  suspence. 

Nor  is  it  discovered  that  the  unkle,  whoever  he  was,  is  with 
much  justice  delivered  to  posterity  as  &  false  Guardian;  he  seems 
to  have  done  only  that  for  which  a  guardian  is  appointed;  he 
endeavoured  to  direct  his  niece  till  she  should  be  able  to  direct 
herself.  Poetry  has  not  often  been  worse  employed  than  in  dignify- 
ing the  amorous  fury  of  a  raving  girl. 

Not  long  after,  he  wrote  The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  the  most  airy, 
the  most  ingenious,  and  the  most  delightful  of  all  his  compositions, 
occasioned  by  a  frolick  of  gallantry,  rather  too  familiar,  in  which 
Lord  Petre  cut  off  a  lock  of  Mrs.  Arabella  Fermor's  hair.  This, 
whether  stealth  or  violence,  was  so  much  resented,  that  the  com- 
merce of  the  two  families,  before  very  friendly,  was  interrupted. 
Mr.  Caryl,  a  gentleman  who,  being  secretary  to  King  James's 
Queen,  had  followed  his  Mistress  into  France,  and  who  being  the 
author  of  Sir  Solomon  Single,  a  comedy,  and  some  translations, 
was  entitled  to  the  notice  of  a  Wit,  solicited  Pope  to  endeavour  a 
reconciliation  by  a  ludicrous  poem,  which  might  bring  both  the 
parties  to  a  better  temper.  In  compliance  with  Caryl's  request, 
though  his  name  was  for  a  long  time  marked  only  by  the  first  and 
last  letter,  C — 1,  a  poem  of  two  cantos  was  written  (1711),  as  is 
said,  in  a  fortnight,  and  sent  to  the  offended  Lady,  who  liked  it  well 


I94  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

enough  to  shew  it;  and,  with  the  usual  process  of  literary  transac- 
tions, the  author,  dreading  a  surreptitious  edition,  was  forced  to 
publish  it. 

The  event  is  said  to  have  been  such  as  was  desired ;  the  pacifica- 
tion and  diversion  of  all  to  whom  it  related,  except  Sir  George 
Brown,  who  complained  with  some  bitterness  that,  in  the  character 
of  Sir  Plume,  he  was  made  to  talk  nonsense.  Whether  all  this  be 
true,  I  have  some  doubt;  for  at  Paris  a  few  years  ago,  a  niece  of 
Mrs.  Fermor,  who  presided  in  an  English  Convent,  mentioned 
Pope's  work  with  very  little  gratitude,  rather  as  an  insult  than  an 
honour;  and  she  may  be  supposed  to  have  inherited  the  opinion 
of  her  family. 

At  its  first  appearance  it  was  termed  by  Addison  merum  sal. 
Pope,  however,  saw  that  it  was  capable  of  improvement;  and, 
having  luckily  contrived  to  borrow  his  machinery  from  the  Rosi- 
crucians,  imparted  the  scheme  with  which  his  head  was  teeming  to 
Addison,  who  told  him  that  his  work,  as  it  stood,  was  a  delicious 
little  thing,  and  gave  him  no  encouragement  to  retouch  it. 

This  has  been  too  hastily  considered  as  an  instance  of  Addison's 
jealousy ;  for  as  he  could  not  guess  the  conduct  of  the  new  design, 
or  the  possibilities  of  pleasure  comprised  in  a  fiction  of  which  there 
had  been  no  examples,  he  might  very  reasonably  and  kindly 
persuade  the  author  to  acquiesce  in  his  own  prosperity,  and  forbear 
an  attempt  which  he  considered  as  an  unnecessary  hazard. 

Addison's  counsel  was  happily  rejected.  Pope  foresaw  the  future 
efflorescence  of  imagery  then  budding  in  his  mind,  and  resolved 
to  spare  no  art,  or  industry  of  cultivation.  The  soft  luxuriance 
of  his  fancy  was  already  shooting,  and  all  the  gay  varieties 
of  diction  were  already  at  his  hand  to  colour  and  embellish  it. 

His  attempt  was  justified  by  its  success.  The  Rape  of  the  Lock 
stands  forward,  in  the  classes  of  literature,  as  the  most  exquisite 
example  of  ludicrous  poetry.  Berkeley  congratulated  him  upon 
the  display  of  powers  more  truly  poetical  than  he  had  shewn 
before;  with  elegance  of  description  and  justness  of  precepts, 
he  had  now  exhibited  boundless  fertility  of  invention. 

He  always  considered  the  intermixture  of  the  machinery  with 
the  action  as  his  most  successful  exertion  of  poetical  art.  He 
indeed  could  never  afterwards  produce  any  thing  of  such 


THE  LIFE   OF   POPE  195 

unexampled  excellence.  Those  performances,  which  strike  with 
wonder,  are  combinations  of  skilful  genius  with  happy  casualty; 
and  it  is  not  likely  that  any  felicity,  like  the  discovery  of  a  new  race 
of  preternatural  agents,  should  happen  twice  to  the  same  man. 

Of  this  poem  the  author  was,  I  think,  allowed  to  enjoy  the 
praise  for  a  long  time  without  disturbance.  Many  years  after- 
wards Dennis  published  some  remarks  upon  it,  with  very  little 
force,  and  with  no  effect ;  for  the  opinion  of  the  publick  was  already 
settled,  and  it  was  no  longer  at  the  mercy  of  criticism. 

About  this  time  he  published  The  Temple  of  Fame,  which,  as  he 
tells  Steele  in  their  correspondence,  he  had  written  two  years  before ; 
that  is,  when  he  was  only  twenty-two  years  old,  an  early  time  of 
life  for  so  much  learning  and  so  much  observation  as  that  work 
exhibits. 

On  this  poem  Dennis  afterwards  published  some  remarks,  of 
which  the  most  reasonable  is,  that  some  of  the  lines  represent 
motion  as  exhibited  by  sculpture. 

Of  the  Epistle  from  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  I  do  not  know  the  date. 
His  first  inclination  to  attempt  a  composition  of  that  tender  kind 
arose,  as  Mr.  Savage  told  me,  from  his  perusal  of  Prior's  Nut-brown 
Maid.  How  much  he  has  surpassed  Prior's  work  it  is  not  necessary 
to  mention,  when  perhaps  it  may  be  said  with  justice,  that  he  has 
excelled  every  composition  of  the  same  kind.  The  mixture  of 
religious  hope  and  resignation  gives  an  elevation  and  dignity  to 
disappointed  love,  which  images  merely  natural  cannot  bestow. 
The  gloom  of  a  convent  strikes  the  imagination  with  far  greater 
force  than  the  solitude  of  a  grove. 

This  piece  was,  however,  not  much  his  favourite  in  his  later 
years,  though  I  never  heard  upon  what  principle  he  slighted  it. 

In  the  next  year  (1713)  he  published  Windsor  Forest;  of  which 
part  was,  as  he  relates,  written  at  sixteen,  about  the  same  time  as 
his  Pastorals,  and  the  latter  part  was  added  afterwards:  where 
the  addition  begins,  we  are  not  told.  The  lines  relating  to  the 
Peace  confess  their  own  date.  It  is  dedicated  to  Lord  Lansdowne, 
who  was  then  high  in  reputation  and  influence  among  the  Tories ; 
and  it  is  said,  that  the  conclusion  of  the  poem  gave  great  pain  to 
Addison,  both  as  a  poet  and  a  politician.  Reports  like  this  are 
often  spread  with  boldness  very  disproportionate  to  their  evidence. 


196  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

Why  should  Addison  receive  any  particular  disturbance  from  the 
last  lines  of  Windsor  Forest?  If  contrariety  of  opinion  could 
poison  a  politician,  he  would  not  live  a  day;  and,  as  a  poet, 
he  must  have  felt  Pope's  force  of  genius  much  more  from  many 
other  parts  of  his  works. 

The  pain  that  Addison  might  feel  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would 
confess ;  and  it  is  certain  that  he  so  well  suppressed  his  discontent, 
that  Pope  now  thought  himself  his  favourite;  for  having  been 
consulted  in  the  revisal  of  Cato,  he  introduced  it  by  a  Prologue; 
and,  when  Dennis  published  his  Remarks,  undertook  not  indeed 
to  vindicate  but  to  revenge  his  friend  by  a  Narrative  of  the  Frenzy 
of  John  Dennis. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Addison  gave  no  encouragement 
to  this  disingenuous  hostility ;  for,  says  Pope,  in  a  Letter  to  him, 
'  indeed  your  opinion,  that  'tis  entirely  to  be  neglected,  would  be 
my  own  in  my  own  case ;  but  I  felt  more  warmth  here  than  I  did 
when  I  first  saw  his  book  against  myself  (though  indeed  in  two 
minutes  it  made  me  heartily  merry).'  Addison  was  not  a  man  on 
whom  such  cant  of  sensibility  could  make  much  impression.  He 
left  the  pamphlet  to  itself,  having  disowned  !t  to  Dennis,  and  per- 
haps did  not  think  Pope  to  have  deserved  much  by  his  officiousness. 

This  year  [1713]  was  printed  in  the  Guardian  the  ironical  com- 
parison between  the  Pastorals  of  Philips  and  Pope ;  a  composition 
of  artifice,  criticism,  and  literature,  to  which  nothing  equal  will 
easily  be  found.  The  superiority  of  Pope  is  so  ingeniously  dis- 
sembled, and  the  feeble  lines  of  Philips  so  skilfully  preferred,  that 
Steele,  being  deceived,  was  unwilling  to  print  the  paper  lest  Pope 
should  be  offended.  Addison  immediately  saw  the  writer's 
design;  and,  as  it  seems,  had  malice  enough  to  conceal  his  dis- 
covery, and  to  permit  a  publication  which,  by  making  his  friend 
Philips  ridiculous,  made  him  for  ever  an  enemy  to  Pope. 

It  appears  that  about  this  time  Pope  had  a  strong  inclination  to 
unite  the  art  of  Painting  with  that  of  Poetry,  and  put  himself 
under  the  tuition  of  Jervas.  He  was  near-sighted,  and  therefore 
not  formed  by  nature  for  a  painter :  he  tried,  however,  how  far  he 
could  advance,  and  sometimes  persuaded  his  friends  to  sit.  A 
picture  of  Betterton,  supposed  to  be  drawn  by  him,  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  Lord  Mansfield :  if  this  was  taken  from  life,  he  must  have 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  197 

begun  to  paint  earlier;  for  Betterton  was  now  dead.  'Pope's 
ambition  of  this  new  art  produced  some  encomiastick  verses  to 
Jervas,  which  certainly  shew  his  power  as  a  poet,  but  I  have  been 
told  that  they  betray  his  ignorance  of  painting. 

He  appears  to  have  regarded  Betterton  with  kindness  and 
esteem ;  and  after  his  death  published,  under  his  name,  a  version 
into  modern  English  of  Chaucer's  Prologues,  and  one  of  his  Tales, 
which,  as  was  related  by  Mr.  Harte,  were  believed  to  have  been  the 
performance  of  Pope  himself  by  Fenton,  who  made  him  a  gay 
offer  of  five  pounds,  if  he  would  shew  them  in  the  hand  of  Betterton. 

The  next  year  (1713)  produced  a  bolder  attempt,  by  which 
profit  was  sought  as  well  as  praise.  The  poems  which  he  had 
hitherto  written,  however  they  might  have  diffused  his  name, 
had  made  very  little  addition  to  his  fortune.  The  allowance  which 
his  father  made  him,  though,  proportioned  to  what  he  had,  it 
might  be  liberal,  could  not  be  large;  his  religion  hindered  him 
from  the  occupation  of  any  civil  employment,  and  he  complained 
that  he  wanted  even  money  to  buy  books. 

He  therefore  resolved  to  try  how  far  the  favour  of  the  publick 
extended,  by  soliciting  a  subscription  to  a  version  of  the  Iliad, 
with  large  notes. 

To  print  by  subscription  was,  for  some  time,  a  practice  peculiar 
to  the  English.  The  first  considerable  work  for  which  this  ex- 
pedient was  employed  is  said  to  have  been  Dryden's  Virgil;  and 
it  had  been  tried  again  with  great  success  when  the  Tatters  were 
collected  into  volumes. 

There  was  reason  to  believe  that  Pope's  attempt  would  be 
successful.  He  was  in  the  full  bloom  of  reputation,  and  was 
personally  known  to  almost  all  whom  dignity  of  employment  or 
splendour  of  reputation  had  made  eminent;  he  conversed  indiffer- 
ently with  both  parties,  and  never  disturbed  the  publick  with  his 
political  opinions;  and  it  might  be  naturally  expected,  as  each 
faction  then  boasted  its  literary  zeal,  that  the  great  men,  who  on 
other  occasions  practised  all  the  violence  of  opposition,  would 
emulate  each  other  in  their  encouragement  of  a  poet  who  delighted 
all,  and  by  whom  none  had  been  offended. 

With  those  hopes,  he  offered  an  English  Iliad  to  subscribers, 
in  six  volumes  in  quarto,  for  six  guineas ;  a  sum,  according  to  the 


198  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

value  of  money  at  that  time,  by  no  means  inconsiderable,  and 
greater  than  I  believe  to  have  been  ever  asked  before.  His  pro- 
posal, however,  was  very  favourably  received,  and  the  patrons  of 
literature  were  busy  to  recommend  his  undertaking,  and  promote 
his  interest.  Lord  Oxford,  indeed,  lamented  that  such  a  genius 
should  be  wasted  upon  a  work  not  original;  but  proposed  no 
means  by  which  he  might  live  without  it :  Addison  recommended 
caution  and  moderation,  and  advised  him  not  to  be  content  with 
the  praise  of  half  the  nation,  when  he  might  be  universally  favoured. 

The  greatness  of  the  design,  the  popularity  of  the  author,  and 
the  attention  of  the  literary  world,  naturally  raised  such  expecta- 
tions of  the  future  sale,  that  the  booksellers  made  their  offers  with 
great  eagerness;  but  the  highest  bidder  was  Bernard  Lintot, 
who  became  proprietor  on  condition  of  supplying,  at  his  own  ex- 
pence,  all  the  copies  which  were  to  be  delivered  to  subscribers, 
or  presented  to  friends,  and  paying  two  hundred  pounds  for  every 
volume. 

Of  the  Quartos  it  was,  I  believe,  stipulated  that  none  should  be 
printed  but  for  the  author,  that  the  subscription  might  not  be  de- 
preciated; but  Lintot  impressed  the  same  pages  upon  a  small 
Folio,  and  paper  perhaps  a  little  thinner;  and  sold  exactly  at 
half  the  price,  for  half  a  guinea  each  volume,  books 
so  little  inferior  to  the  Quartos,  that,  by  a  fraud  of  trade,  those 
Folios,  being  afterwards  shortened  by  cutting  away  the  top  and 
bottom,  were  sold  as  copies  printed  for  the  subscribers. 

Lintot  printed  two  hundred  and  fifty  on  royal  paper  in  Folio 
for  two  guineas  a  volume;  of  the  small  Folio,  having  printed 
seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  copies  of  the  first  volume,  he  reduced 
the  number  in  the  other  volumes  to  a  thousand. 

It  is  unpleasant  to  relate  that  the  bookseller,  after  all  his  hopes 
and  all  his  liberality,  was,  by  a  very  unjust  and  illegal  action, 
defrauded  of  his  profit.  An  edition  of  the  English  Iliad  was 
printed  in  Holland  in  Duodecimo,  and  imported  clandestinely  for 
the  gratification  of  those  who  were  impatient  to  read  what  they 
could  not  yet  afford  to  buy.  This  fraud  could  only  be  counter- 
acted by  an  edition  equally  cheap  and  more  commodious;  and 
Lintot  was  compelled  to  contract  his  Folio  at  once  into  a  Duodecimo, 
and  lose  the  advantage  of  an  intermediate  gradation.  The  notes, 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  199 

which  in  the  Dutch  copies  were  placed  at  the  end  of  each  book, 
as  they  had  been  in  the  large  volumes,  were  now  subjoined  to  the 
text  in  the  same  page,  and  are  therefore  more  easily  consulted. 
Of  this  edition  two  thousand  five  hundred  were  first  printed,  and 
five  thousand  a  few  weeks  afterwards ;  but  indeed  great  numbers 
were  necessary  to  produce  considerable  profit. 

Pope,  having  now  emitted  his  proposals,  and  engaged  not  only 
his  own  reputation,  but  in  some  degree  that  of  his  friends  who  pat- 
ronised his  subscription,  began  to  be  frighted  at  his  own  under- 
taking ;  and  finding  himself  at  first  embarrassed  with  difficulties, 
which  retarded  and  oppressed  him,  he  was  for  a  time  timorous 
and  uneasy;  had  his  nights  disturbed  by  dreams  of  long  journeys 
through  unknown  ways,  and  wished,  as  he  said,  that  somebody 
would  hang  him. 

This  misery,  however,  was  not  of  long  continuance;  he  grew 
by  degrees  more  acquainted  with  Homer's  images  and  expres- 
sions, and  practice  increased  his  facility  of  versification.  In  a 
short  time  he  represents  himself  as  despatching  regularly  fifty 
verses  a  day,  which  would  shew  him  by  an  easy  computation 
the  termination  of  his  labour. 

His  own  diffidence  was  not  his  only  vexation.  He  that  asks 
a  subscription  soon  finds  that  he  has  enemies.  All  who  do  not 
encourage  him  defame  him.  He  that  wants  money  will  rather 
be  thought  angry  than  poor,  and  he  that  wishes  to  save  his  money 
conceals  his  avarice  by  his  malice.  Addison  had  hinted  his 
suspicion  that  Pope  was  too  much  a  Tory;  and  some  of  the 
Tories  suspected  his  principles  because  he  had  contributed  to 
the  Guardian,  which  was  carried  on  by  Steele. 

To  those  who  censured  his  politicks  were  added  enemies  yet 
more  dangerous,  who  called  in  question  his  knowledge  of  Greek, 
and  his  qualifications  for  a  translator  of  Homer.  To  these  he 
made  no  publick  opposition;  but  in  one  of  his  Letters  escapes 
from  them  as  well  as  he  can.  At  an  age  like  this,  for  he  was 
not  more  than  twenty-five,  with  an  irregular  education,  and  a 
course  of  life  of  which  much  seems  to  have  passed  in  conversa- 
tion, it  is  not  very  likely  that  he  overflowed  with  Greek.  But 
when  he  felt  himself  deficient  he  sought  assistance;  and  what 
man  of  learning  would  refuse  to  help  him?  Minute  enquiries 


200  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

into  the  force  of  words  are  less  necessary  in  translating  Homer 
than  other  poets,  because  his  positions  are  general,  and  his  repre- 
sentations natural,  with  very  little  dependence  on  local  or  tempo- 
rary customs,  on  those  changeable  scenes  of  artificial  life,  which, 
by  mingling  original  with  accidental  notions,  and  crowding  the 
mind  with  images  which  time  effaces,  produces  ambiguity  in 
diction,  and  obscurity  in  books.  To  this  open  display  of  unadul- 
terated nature  it  must  be  ascribed,  that  Homer  has  fewer  passages 
of  doubtful  meaning  than  any  other  poet  either  in  the  learned 
or  in  modern  languages.  I  have  read  of  a  man,  who  being, 
by  his  ignorance  of  Greek,  compelled  to  gratify  his  curiosity  with 
the  Latin  printed  on  the  opposite  page,  declared  that  from  the 
rude  simplicity  of  the  lines  literally  rendered,  he  formed  nobler 
ideas  of  the  Homeric  majesty  than  from  the  laboured  elegance 
of  polished  versions. 

Those  literal  translations  were  always  at  hand,  and  from  them 
he  could  easily  obtain  his  author's  sense  with  sufficient  certainty; 
and  among  the  readers  of  Homer  the  number  is  very  small  of  those 
who  find  much  in  the  Greek  more  than  in  the  Latin,  except  the 
musick  of  the  numbers. 

If  more  help  was  wanting,  he  had  the  poetical  translation  of 
Eobanus  Hessus,  an  unwearied  writer  of  Latin  verses;  he 
had  the  French  Homers  of  La  Valterie  and  Dacier,  and  the  Eng- 
lish of  Chapman,  Hobbes,  and  Ogylby.  With  Chapman,  whose 
work,  though  not  totally  neglected,  seems  to  have  been  popular 
almost  to  the  end  of  the  last  century,  he  had  very  frequent  con- 
sultations, and  perhaps  never  translated  any  passage  till  he  had 
read  his  version,  which  indeed  he  has  sometimes  been  suspected 
of  using  instead  of  the  original. 

Notes  were  likewise  to  be  provided ;  for  the  six  volumes  would 
have  been  very  little  more  than  six  pamphlets  without  them. 
What  the  mere  perusal  of  the  text  could  suggest,  Pope  wanted 
no  assistance  to  collect  or  methodize;  but  more  was  necessary; 
many  pages  were  to  be  filled,  and  learning  must  supply  materials 
to  wit  and  judgement.  Something  might  be  gathered  from  Dacier; 
but  no  man  loves  to  be  indebted  to  his  contemporaries,  and 
Dacier  was  accessible  to  common  readers.  Eustathius  was 
therefore  necessarily  consulted.  To  read  Eustathius,  of  whose 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  2OT 

work  there  was  then  no  Latin  version,  I  suspect  Pope,  if  he  had 
been  willing,  not  to  have  been  able;  some  other  was  therefore 
to  be  found,  who  had  leisure  as  well  as  abilities,  and  he  was 
doubtless  most  readily  employed  who  would  do  much  work  for 
little  money. 

The  history  of  the  notes  has  never  been  traced.  Broome, 
in  his  preface  to  his  poems,  declares  himself  the  commentator 
in  part  upon  the  Iliad;  and  it  appears  from  Fenton's  Letter, 
preserved  in  the  Museum,  that  Broome  was  at  first  engaged  in 
consulting  Eustathius;  but  that  after  a  time,  whatever  was  the 
reason,  he  desisted:  another  man  of  Cambridge  was  then  em- 
ployed, who  soon  grew  weary  of  the  work ;  and  a  third,  that  was 
recommended  by  Thirlby,  is  now  discovered  to  have  been  Jortin, 
a  man  since  well  known  to  the  learned  world,  who  complained 
that  Pope,  having  accepted  and  approved  his  performance,  never 
testified  any  curiosity  to  see  him,  and  who  professed  to  have 
forgotten  the  terms  on  which  he  worked.  The  terms  which  Fen- 
ton  uses  are  very  mercantile :  I  think  at  first  sight  that  his  per- 
formance is  very  commendable,  and  have  sent  word  for  him  to 
finish  the  ijth  book,  and  to  send  it  with  his  demands  for  his  trouble. 
I  have  here  enclosed  the  specimen;  if  the  rest  come  before  the  re- 
turn, I  will  keep  them  till  I  receive  your  order. 

BroQme  then  offered  his  service  a  second  time,  which  was  prob- 
ably accepted,  as  they  had  afterwards  a  closer  correspondence. 
Parnell  contributed  the  Life  of  Homer,  which  Pope  found  so 
harsh,  that  he  took  great  pains  in  correcting  it;  and  by  his  own 
diligence,  with  such  help  as  kindness  or  money  could  procure  him, 
in  somewhat  more  than  five  years  he  completed  his  version  of  the 
Iliad,  with  the  notes.  He  began  it  in  1712,  his  twenty-fifth  year, 
and  concluded  it  in  1718,  his  thirtieth  year. 

When  we  find  him  translating  fifty  lines  a  day,  it  is  natural 
to  suppose  that  he  would  have  brought  his  work  to  a  more  speedy 
conclusion.  The  Iliad,  containing  less  than  sixteen  thousand 
verses,  might  have  been  despatched  in  less  than  three  hundred 
and  twenty  days  by  fifty  verses  in  a  day.  The  notes,  compiled 
with  the  assistance  of  his  mercenaries,  could  not  be  supposed 
to  require  more  time  than  the  text.  According  to  this  calculation, 
the  progress  of  Pope  may  seem  to  have  been  slow;  but  the  dis- 


202  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

tance  is  commonly  very  great  between  actual  performances  and 
speculative  possibility.  It  is  natural  to  suppose,  that  as  much 
as  has  been  done  to-day  may  be  done  to-morrow;  but  on  the 
morrow  some  difficulty  emerges,  or  some  external  impediment 
obstructs.  Indolence,  interruption,  business,  and  pleasure,  all 
take  their  turns  of  retardation ;  and  every  long  work  is  length- 
ened by  a  thousand  causes  that  can,  and  ten  thousand  that  can- 
not, be  recounted.  Perhaps  no  extensive  and  multifarious  per- 
formance was  ever  effected  within  the  term  originally  fixed  in 
the  undertaker's  mind.  He  that  runs  against  Time  has  an 
antagonist  not  subject  to  casualties. 

The  encouragement  given  to  this  translation,  though  report 
seems  to  have  overrated  it,  was  such  as  the  world  has  not  often 
seen.  The  subscribers  were  five  hundred  and  seventy-five.  The 
copies  for  which  subscription  were  given  were  six  hundred  and 
fifty-four;  and  only  six  hundred  and  sixty  were  printed.  For 
those  copies  Pope  had  nothing  to  pay;  he  therefore  received, 
including  the  two  hundred  pounds  a  volume,  five  thousand  three 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds  four  shillings,  without  deduction,  as 
the  books  were  supplied  by  Lintot. 

By  the  success  of  his  subscription  Pope  was  relieved  from  those 
pecuniary  distresses  with  which,  notwithstanding  his  popularity, 
he  had  hitherto  struggled.  Lord  Oxford  had  often  lamented 
his  disqualification  for  publick  employment,  but  never  proposed 
a  pension.  While  the  translation  of  Homer  was  in  its  progress, 
Mr.  Craggs,  then  secretary  of  state,  offered  to  procure  him  a 
pension,  which,  at  least  during  his  ministry,  might  be  enjoyed 
with  secrecy.  This  was  not  accepted  by  Pope,  who  told  him, 
however,  that  if  he  should  be  pressed  with  want  of  money,  he 
would  send  to  him  for  occasional  supplies.  Craggs  was  not 
long  in  power,  and  was  never  solicited  for  money  by  Pope,  who 
disdained  to  beg  what  he  did  not  want. 

With  the  product  of  this  subscription,  which  he  had  too  much 
discretion  to  squander,  he  secured  his  future  life  from  want  by 
considerable  annuities.  The  estate  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham 
was  found  to  have  been  charged  with  five  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
payable  to  Pope,  which  doubtless  his  translation  enabled  him 
to  purchase. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  203 

It  cannot  be  unwelcome  to  literary  curiosity,  that  I  deduce 
thus  minutely  the  history  of  the  English  Iliad.  It  is  certainly 
the  noblest  version  of  poetry  which  the  world  has  ever  seen ;  and 
its  publication  must  therefore  be  considered  as  one  of  the  great 
events  in  the  annals  of  Learning. 

To  those  who  have  skill  to  estimate  the  excellence  and  difficulty 
of  this  great  work,  it  must  be  very  desirable  to  know  how  it  was 
performed,  and  by  what  gradations  it  advanced  to  correctness. 
Of  such  an  intellectual  process  the  knowledge  has  very  rarely 
been  attainable;  but  happily  there  remains  the  original  copy  of 
the  Iliad,  which,  being  obtained  by  Bolingbroke  as  a  curiosity, 
descended  from  him  to  Mallet,  and  is  now  by  the  solicitation  of 
the  late  Dr.  Maty  reposited  in  the  Museum. 

Between  this  manuscript,  which  is  written  upon  accidental 
fragments  of  paper,  and  the  printed  edition,  there  must  have  been 
an  intermediate  copy,  that  was  perhaps  destroyed  as  it  returned 
from  the  press. 

From  the  first  copy  I  have  procured  a  few  transcripts,  and 
shall  exhibit  first  the  printed  lines;  then,  in  a  smaller  print, 
those  of  the  manuscripts,  with  all  their  variations.  Those  words 
in  the  small  print  which  are  given  in  Italicks  are  cancelled  in  the 
copy,  and  the  words  placed  under  them  adopted  in  their  stead. 

The  beginning  of  the  first  book  stands  thus: 

The  wrath  of  Peleus'  son,  the  direful  spring 
Of  all  the  Grecian  woes,  O  Goddess,  sing; 
That  wrath  which  hurl'd  to  Pluto's  gloomy  reign 
The  souls  of  mighty  chiefs  untimely  slain. 

The  stern  Pelides'  rage,  O  Goddess,  sing, 

wrath 
Of  all  the  woes  of  Greece  the  fatal  spring, 

Grecian 
That  strew'd  with  warriors  dead  the  Phrygian  plain, 

heroes 

And  peopled  the  dark  shades  with  heroes  slain; 
fill'd  the  shady  hell  with  chiefs  untimely 

Whose  limbs,  unburied  on  the  naked  shore, 

Devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures  tore, 

Since  great  Achilles  and  Atrides  strove; 

Such  was  the  sovereign  doom,  and  such  the  will  of  Jove. 

Whose  limbs,  unburied  on  the  hostile  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  and  greedy  vultures  tore, 


204  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 


Since  first  Atrides  and  Achilles  strove; 

Such  was  the  sovereign  doom,  and  such  the  will  of  Jove. 

Declare,  O  Muse,  in  what  ill-fated  hour 

Sprung  the  fierce  strife,  from  what  offended  Power! 

Latona's  son  a  dire  contagion  spread, 

And  heap'd  the  camp  with  mountains  of  the  dead; 

The  King  of  Men  his  reverend  priest  defy'd, 

And  for  the  King's  offence,  the  people  dy'd. 

Declare,  O  Goddess,  what  offended  Power 
Enflam'd  their  rage,  in  that  ill  omen'd  hour; 

anger  fatal,  hapless 

Phoebus  himself  the  dire  debate  procur'd, 

fierce 

T'avenge  the  wrongs  his  injured  priest  endur'd; 
For  this  the  God  a  dire  infection  spread, 
And  heap'd  the  camp  with  millions  of  the  dead: 
The  King  of  Men  the  sacred  Sire  defy'd, 
And  for  the  King's  offence  the  people  dy'd. 

For  Chryses  sought  with  costly  gifts  to  gain 
His  captive  daughter  from  the  Victor's  chain; 
Suppliant  the  venerable  Father  stands, 
Apollo's  awful  ensigns  grace  his  hands, 
By  these  he  begs,  and,  lowly  bending  down, 
Extends  the  sceptre  and  the  laurel  crown. 

For  Chryses  sought  by  presents  to  regain 
costly  gifts  to  gain 

His  captive  daughter  from  the  Victor's  chain; 
Suppliant  the  venerable  Father  stands, 
Apollo's  awful  ensigns  grac'd  his  hands, 
By  these  he  begs,  and  lowly  bending  down 
The  golden  sceptre  and  the  laurel  crown, 
Presents  the  sceptre 
For  these  as  ensigns  of  his  God  he  bare, 
The  God  that  sends  his  golden  shafts  afar ; 
Then  low  on  earth,  the  venerable  man, 
Suppliant  before  the  brother  kings  began. 

He  sued  to  all,  but  chief  implor'd  for  grace 
The  brother  kings  of  Atreus'  royal  rare; 
Ye  kings  and  warriors,  may  your  vows  be  crown'd, 
And  Troy's  proud  walls  lie  level  with  the  ground; 
May  Jove  restore  you,  when  your  toils  are  o'er, 
Safe  to  the  pleasures  of  your  native  shore. 

To  all  he  sued,  but  chief  implor'd  for  grace 

The  brother  kings  of  Atreus'  royal  race. 

Ye  sons  of  Atreus,  may  your  vows  be  crown'd, 

Kings  and  warriors 
Your  labours,  By  the  Gods  be  all  your  labours  crowrfd; 


THE   LIFE   OF   POPE  205 

So  may  the  Gods  your  arms  with  conquest  bless, 
And  Troy's  proud  walls  lie  level  with  the  ground; 
Till  laid 

And  crown  your  labours  with  deserv'd  success; 
May  Jove  restore  you,  when  your  toils  are  o'er, 
Safe  to  the  pleasures  of  your  native  shore. 

But,  oh !   relieve  a  wretched  parent's  pain, 
And  give  Chryseis  to  these  arms  again; 
If  mercy  fail,  yet  let  my  present  move, 
And  dread  avenging  Phoebus,  son  of  Jove. 

But,  oh !   relieve  a  hapless  parent's  pain, 
And  give  my  daughter  to  these  arms  again; 
Receive  my  gifts ;  if  mercy  fails,  yet  let  my  present  move, 
And  fear  the  God  that  deals  his  darts  around, 
avenging  Phoebus,  son  of  Jove. 

The  Greeks,  in  shouts,  their  joint  assent  declare 
The  priest  to  reverence,  and  release  the  fair. 
Not  so  Atrides;   he,  with  kingly  pride 
Repuls'd  the  sacred  Sire,  and  thus  reply'd. 

He  said,  the  Greeks  their  joint  assent  declare, 
The  father  said,  the  gen'rous  Greeks  relent, 
T' accept  the  ransom,  and  release  the  fair: 
Revere  the  priest,  and  speak  their  joint  assent  : 
Not  so  the  tyrant,  he,  with  kingly  pride, 

Atrides, 

Repuls'd  the  sacred  Sire,  and  thus  reply'd. 
[Not  so  the  tyrant.     DRYDEN.] 

Of  these  lines,  and  of  the  whole  first  book,  I  am  told  that  there 
was  yet  a  former  copy,  more  varied,  and  more  deformed  with 
interlineations. 

The  beginning  of  the  second  book  varies  very  little  from  the 
printed  page,  and  is  therefore  set  down  without  any  parallel: 
the  few  differences  do  not  require  to  be  elaborately  displayed. 

Now  pleasing  sleep  had  seal'd  each  mortal  eye; 
Stretch'd  in  their  tents  the  Grecian  leaders  lie; 
Th'  Immortals  slumber'd  on  their  thrones  above, 
All  but  the  ever-watchful  eye  of  Jove. 
To  honour  Thetis'  son  he  bends  his  care, 
And  plunge  the  Greeks  in  all  the  woes  of  war. 
Then  bids  an  empty  phantom  rise  to  sight, 
And  thus  commands  the  vision  of  the  night: 

directs 

Fly  hence,  delusive  dream,  and,  light  as  air, 
To  Agamemnon's  royal  tent  repair; 
Bid  him  in  arms  draw  forth  th'  embattled  train, 
March  all  his  legions  to  the  dusty  plain. 


206  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

Now  tell  the  King  'tis  given  him  to  destroy 

Declare  ev'n  now 

The  lofty  walls  of  wide-extended  Troy; 

tow'rs 

For  now  no  more  the  Gods  with  Fate  contend; 
At  Juno's  suit  the  heavenly  factions  end. 
Destruction  hovers  o'er  yon  devoted  wall, 

hangs 
And  nodding  Ilium  waits  th'  impending  fall. 

Invocation  to  the  Catalogue  of  Ships. 

Say,  Virgins,  seated  round  the  throne  divine, 
All-knowing  Goddesses !   immortal  Nine ! 
Since  earth's  wide  region,  heaven's  unmeasur'd  height, 
And  hell's  abyss,  hide  nothing  from  your  sight, 
(We,  wretched  mortals !  lost  in  doubts  below, 
But  guess  by  rumour,  and  but  boast  we  know) 
Oh  say  what  heroes,  fir'd  by  thirst  of  fame, 
Or  urg'd  by  wrongs,  to  Troy's  destruction  came! 
To  count  them  all,  demands  a  thousand  tongues, 
A  throat  of  brass  and  adamantine  lungs. 

Now,  Virgin  Goddesses,  immortal  Nine ! 

That  round  Olympus'  heavenly  summit  shine. 

Who  see  through  heaven  and  earth,  and  hell  profound, 

And  all  things  know,  and  all  things  can  resound; 

Relate  what  armies  sought  the  Trojan  land, 

What  nations  follow' d,  and  what  chiefs  command; 

(For  doubtful  Fame  distracts  mankind  below, 

And  nothing  can  we  tell,  and  nothing  know) 

Without  your  aid,  to  count  th'  unnumber'd  train, 

A  thousand  mouths,  a  thousand  tongues  were  vain. 


Book  V.  v.  i. 

But  Pallas  now  Tydides'  soul  inspires, 
Fills  with  her  .force,  and  warms  with  all  her  fires: 
Above  the  Greeks  his  deathless  fame  to  raise, 
And  crown  her  hero  with  distinguish'd  praise, 
High  on  his  helm  celestial  lightnings  play, 
His  beamy  shield  emits  a  living  ray; 
Th'  unwearied  blaze  incessant  streams  supplies, 
Like  the  red  star  that  fires  th'  autumnal  skies. 

But  Pallas  now  Tydides'  soul  inspires, 
Fills  with  her  rage,  and  warms  with  all  her  fires; 

force, 

O'er  all  the  Greeks  decrees  his  fame  to  raise, 
Above  the  Greeks  her  warrior's  fame  to  raise, 

his  deathless 

And  crown  her  hero  with  immortal  praise: 
distinguish'd 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  207 

Bright  from  his  beamy  crest  the  lightnings  play, 

High  on  helm 

From  his  broad  buckler  flash'd  the  living  ray, 
High  on  his  helm  celestial  lightnings  play, 
His  beamy  shield  emits  a  living  ray. 
The  Goddess  with  her  breath  the  flame  supplies, 
Bright  as  the  star  whose  fires  in  Autumn  rise; 
Her  breath  divine  thick  streaming  flames  supplies, 
Bright  as  the  star  that  fires  th'  autumnal  skies: 
Th   unwearied  blaze  incessant  streams  supplies, 
Like  the  red  star  that  fires  th'  autumnal  skies. 

When  fresh  he  rears  his  radiant  orb  to  sight, 
And  bath'd  in  ocean  shoots  a  keener  light. 
Such  glories  Pallas  on  the  chief  bestow'd, 
Such  from  his  arms  the  fierce  effulgence  flow'd; 
Onward  she  drives  him,  furious  to  engage, 
Where  the  fight  burns,  and  where  the  thickest  rage. 

When  fresh  he  rears  his  radiant  orb  to  sight, 
And  gilds  old  Ocean  with  a  blaze  of  light, 
Bright  as  the  star  that  fires  th'  autumnal  skies, 
Fresh  from  the  deep,  and  gilds  the  seas  and  skies. 
Such  glories  Pallas  on  her  chief  bestow'd, 
Such  sparkling  rays  from  his  bright  armour  flow'd, 
Such  from  his  arms  the  fierce  effulgence  flow'd. 
Onward  she  drives  him  headlong  to  engage, 

furious 

Where  the  war  bleeds,  and  where  the  fiercest  rage, 
fight  burns,  thickest 

The  sons  of  Dares  first  the  combat  sought, 
A  wealthy  priest,  but  rich  without  a  fault; 
In  Vulcan's  fame  the  father's  days  were  -led, 
The  sons  to  toils  of  glorious  battle  bred; 

There  lived  a  Trojan  —  Dares  was  his  name, 
The  priest  of  Vulcan,  rich,  yet  void  of  blame; 
The  sons  of  Dares  first  the  combat  sought, 
A  wealthy  priest,  but  rich  without  a  fault. 

Conclusion  of  Book  VIII.  v.  687. 

As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night, 
O'er  heaven's  clear  azure  spreads  her  sacred  light; 
When  not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene, 
And  not  a  cloud  o'ercasts  the  solemn  scene; 
Around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll, 
And  stars  unnumber'd  gild  the  glowing  pole: 
O'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellower  verdure  shed, 
And  tip  with  silver  every  mountain's  head; 
Then  shine  the  vales  —  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise, 
A  flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies; 


208  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 


The  conscious  swains,  rejoicing  in  the  sight, 
Eye  the  blue  vault,  and  bless  the  useful  light. 
So  many  flames  before  proud  Ilion  blaze, 
And  lighten  glimmering  Xanthus  with  their  rays; 
The  long  reflexion  of  the  distant  fires 
Gleam  on  the  walls,  and  tremble  on  the  spires: 
A  thousand  piles  the  dusky  horrors  gild, 
And  shoot  a  shady  lustre  o'er  the  field; 
Full  fifty  guards  each  flaming  pile  attend, 
Whose  umber'd  arms  by  fits  thick  flashes  send; 
Loud  neigh  the  coursers  o'er  their  heaps  of  corn, 
And  ardent  warriors  wait  the  rising  morn. 

As  when  in  stillness  of  the  silent  night, 
As  when  the  moon  in  all  her  lustre  bright, 
As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night, 
O'er  heaven's  dear  azure  sheds  her  silver  light; 

pure          spreads       sacred 
As  still  in  air  the  trembling  lustre  stood, 
And  o'er  its  golden  border  shoots  a  flood; 
When  no  loose  gale  disturbs  the  deep  serene, 

not  a  breath 
And  no  dim  cloud  o'ercasts  the  solemn  scene; 

not  a 

Around  her  silver  throne  the  planets  glow, 
And  stars  unnumber'd  trembling  beams  bestow; 
Around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll, 
And  stars  unnumber'd  gild  the  glowing  pole: 
Clear  gleams  of  light  o'er  the  dark  trees  are  seen, 

o'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellow  sheds, 
O'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellower  green  they  shed, 
gleam 
verdure 
And  tip  with  silver  all  the  mountain  heads: 

forest 

And  tip  with  silver  every  mountain's  head. 
The  valleys  open,  and  the  forests  rise, 
The  vales  appear,  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise, 
Then  shine  the  vales,  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise, 
All  Nature  stands  reveal'd  before  our  eyes; 
A  flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies. 
The  conscious  shepherd,  joyful  at  the  sight, 
Eyes  the  blue  vault,  and  numbers  every  light. 
The  conscious  swains  rejoicing  at  the  sight 

shepherds  gazing  with  delight 
Eye  the  blue  vault,  and  bless  the  vivid  light, 

glorious 
useful 
So  many  flames  before  the  navy  blaze, 

proud  Ilion 

And  lighten  glimmering  Xanthus  with  their  rays, 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  to  Troy  extend  the  gleams, 
And  tip  the  distant  spires  with  fainter  beams; 
The  long  reflexions  of  the  distant  fires 
Gild  the  high  walls,  and  tremble  on  the  spires; 
Gleam  on  the  walls  arid  tremble  on  the  spires; 
A  thousand  fires  at  distant  stations  bright, 
Gild  the  dark  prospect,  and  dispel  the  night. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  209 

Of  these  specimens  every  man  who  has  cultivated  poetry,  or 
who  delights  to  trace  the  mind  from  the  rudeness  of  its  first  con- 
ceptions to  the  elegance  of  its  last,  will  naturally  desire  a  greater 
number;  but  most  other  readers  are  already  tired,  and  I  am  not 
writing  only  to  poets  and  philosophers. 

The  Iliad  was  published  volume  by  volume,  as  the  transla- 
tion proceeded;  the  four  first  books  appeared  in  1715.  The 
expectation  of  this  work  was  undoubtedly  high,  and  every  man 
who  had  connected  his  name  with  criticism,  or  poetry,  was  desir- 
ous of  such  intelligence  as  might  enable  him  to  talk  upon  the 
popular  topick.  Halifax,  who,  by  having  been  first  a  poet,  and 
the$  a  patron  of  poetry,  had  acquired  the  right  of  being  a  judge, 
was  willing  to  hear  some  books  while  they  were  yet  unpublished. 
Of  this  rehearsal  Pope  afterwards  gave  the  following  account. 

'The  famous  Lord  Halifax  was  rather  a  pretender  to  taste 
than  really  possessed  of  it.  —  When  I  had  finished  the  two  or 
three  first  books  of  my  translation  of  the  Iliad,  that  Lord  de- 
sired to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  them  read  at  his  house.  — 
Addison,  Congreve,  and  Garth,  were  there  at  the  reading.  In 
four  or  five  places,  Lord  Halifax  stopt  me  very  civilly,  and  with  a 
speech  each  time,  much  of  the  same  kind,  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Pope;  but  there  is  something  in  that  passage  that  does  not 
quite  please  me.  —  Be  so  good  as  to  mark  the  place,  and  con- 
sider it  a  little  at  your  leisure.  —  I  am  sure  you  can  give  it  a  little 
turn."  I  returned  from  Lord  Halifax's  with  Dr.  Garth,  in  his 
chariot;  and,  as  we  were  going  along,  was  saying  to  the  Doctor, 
that  my  Lord  had  laid  me  under  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  by  such 
loose  and  general  observations;  that  I  had  been  thinking  over 
the  passages  almost  ever  since,  and  could  not  guess  at  what  it 
was  that  offended  his  Lordship  in  either  of  them.  Garth  laughed 
heartily  at  my  embarrassment;  said,  I  had  not  been  long  enough 
acquainted  with  Lord  Halifax  to  know  his  way  yet;  that  I  need 
not  puzzle  myself  about  looking  those  places  over  and  over,  when 
I  got  home.  "All  you  need  do  (says  he)  is  to  leave  them  just  as 
they  are ;  call  on  Lord  Halifax  two  or  three  months  hence,  thank 
him  for  his  kind  observations  on  those  passages,  and  then  read 
them  to  him  as  altered.  I  have  known  him  much  longer  than 
you  have,  and  will  be  answerable  for  the  event."  I  followed  his 


210  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

advice ;  waited  on  Lord  Halifax  some  time  after ;  said,  I  hoped  he 
would  find  his  objections  to  those  passages  removed;  read  them 
to  him  exactly  as  they  were  at  first:  and  his  Lordship  was  ex- 
tremely pleased  with  them,  and  cried  out,  Ay,  now  they  are 
perfectly  right:  nothing  can  be  better.' 

It  is  seldom  that  the  great  or  the  wise  suspect  that  they  are 
despised  or  cheated.  Halifax,  thinking  this  a  lucky  opportunity 
of  securing  immortality,  made  some  advances  of  favour  and  some 
overtures  of  advantage  to  Pope,  which  he  seems  to  have  received 
with  sullen  coldness.  All  our  knowledge  of  this  transaction  is 
derived  from  a  single  Letter  (Dec.  i,  1714),  in  which  Pope  says, 
1 1  am  obliged  to  you,  both  for  the  favours  you  have  done  me,  and 
those  you  intend  me.  I  distrust  neither  your  will  nor  your  memory, 
when  it  is  to  do  good;  and  if  I  ever  become  troublesome  or  so- 
licitous, it  must  not  be  out  of  expectation,  but  out  of  gratitude. 
Your  Lordship  may  cause  me  to  live  agreeably  in  the  town,  or 
contentedly  in  the  country,  which  is  really  all  the  difference  I 
set  between  an  easy  fortune  and  a  small  one.  It  is  indeed  a  high 
strain  of  generosity  in  you  to  think  of  making  me  easy  all  my 
life,  only  because  I  have  been  so  happy  as  to  divert  you  some  few 
hours ;  but,  if  I  may  have  leave  to  add  it  is  because  you  think  me 
no  enemy  to  my  native  country,  there  will  appear  a  better  reason ; 
for  I  must  of  consequence  be  very  much  (as  I  sincerely  am) 
yours,  &c.' 

These  voluntary  offers,  and  this  faint  acceptance,  ended  with- 
out effect.  The  patron  was  not  accustomed  to  such  frigid  grati- 
tude, and  the  poet  fed  his  own  pride  with  the  dignity  of  indepen- 
dence. They  probably  were  suspicious  of  each  other.  Pope 
would  not  dedicate  till  he  saw  at  what  rate  his  praise  was  valued; 
he  would  be  troublesome  out  of  gratitude,  not  expectation.  Halifax, 
thought  himself  entitled  to  confidence;  and  would  give  nothing, 
unless  he  knew  what  he  should  receive.  Their  commerce  had  its 
beginning  in  hope  of  praise  on  one  side,  and  of  money  on  the 
other,  and  ended  because  Pope  was  less  eager  of  money  than  Hali- 
fax of  praise.  It  is  not  likely  that  Halifax  had  any  personal 
benevolence  to  Pope;  it  is  evident  that  Pope  looked  on  Halifax 
with  scorn  and  hatred. 

The  reputation  of  this  great  work  failed  of  gaining  him  a  patron ; 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  211 

but  it  deprived  him  of  a  friend.  Addison  and  he  were  now 
at  the  head  of  poetry  and  criticism;  and  both  in  such  a  state  of 
elevation,  that,  like  the  two  rivals  in  the  Roman  state,  one  could 
no  longer  bear  an  equal,  nor  the  other  a  superior.  Of  the  gradual 
abatement  of  kindness  between  friends,  the  beginning  is  often 
scarcely  discernible  by  themselves,  and  the  process  is  continued 
by  petty  provocations,  and  incivilities  sometimes  peevishly  re- 
turned, and  sometimes  contemptuously  neglected,  which  would 
escape  all  attention  but  that  of  pride,  and  drop  from  any  memory 
but  that  of  resentment.  That  the  quarrel  of  these  two  wits 
should  be  minutely  deduced,  is  not  to  be  expected  from  a  writer 
to  whom,  as  Homer  says,  nothing  but  rumour  has  reached,  and  who 
has  no  personal  knowledge. 

Pope  doubtless  approached  Addison,  when  the  reputation  of 
their  wit  first  brought  them  together,  with  the  respect  due  to  a 
man  whose  abilities  were  acknowledged,  and  who,  having  attained 
that  eminence  to  which  he  was  himself  aspiring,  had  in  his  hands 
the  distribution  of  literary  fame.  He  paid  court  with  sufficient 
diligence  by  his  Prologue  to  Cato,  by  his  abuse  of  Dennis,  and, 
with  praise  yet  more  direct,  by  his  poem  on  the  Dialogues  on 
Medals,  of  which  the  immediate  publication  was  then  intended. 
In  all  this  there  was  no  hypocrisy ;  for  he  confessed  that  he 
found  in  Addison  something  more  pleasing  than  in  any  other  man. 

It  may  be  supposed,  that  as  Pope  saw  himself  favoured  by 
the  world,  and  more  frequently  compared  his  own  powers  with 
those  of  others,  his  confidence  increased,  and  his  submission 
lessened;  and  that  Addison  felt  no  delight  from  the  advances 
of  a  young  wit,  who  might  soon  contend  with  him  for  the  highest 
place.  Every  great  man,  of  whatever  kind  be  his  greatness,  has 
among  his  friends  those  who  officiously,  or  insidiously,  quicken 
his  attention  to  offences,  heighten  his  disgust,  and  stimulate  his 
resentment.  Of  such  adherents  Addison  doubtless  had  many, 
and  Pope  was  now  too  high  to  be  without  them. 

From  the  emission  and  reception  of  the  Proposals  for  the  Iliad, 
the  kindness  of  Addison  seems  to  have  abated.  Jervas  the  painter 
once  pleased  himself  (Aug.  20,  1714)  with  imagining  that  he  had 
re-established  their  friendship;  and  wrote  to  Pope  that  Addison 
once  suspected  him  of  too  close  a  confederacy  with  Swift,  but  was 


212  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

now  satisfied  with  his  conduct.  To  this  Pope  answered,  a  week 
after,  that  his  engagements  to  Swift  were  such  as  his  services  in 
regard  to  the  subscription  demanded,  and  that  the  Tories  never 
put  him  under  the  necessity  of  asking  leave  to  be  grateful.  But, 
says  he,  as  Mr.  Addison  must  be  the  judge  in  what  regards  him- 
self, and  seems  to  have  no  very  just  one  in  regard  to  me,  so  I  must 
own  to  you  I  expect  nothing  but  civility  from  him.  In  the 
same  Letter  he  mentions  Philips,  as  having  been  busy  to  kindle 
animosity  between  them;  but,  in  a  Letter  to  Addison,  he  ex- 
presses some  consciousness  of  behaviour,  inattentively  deficient  in 
respect. 

Of  Swift's  industry  in  promoting  the  subscription  there  remains 
the  testimony  of  Kennet,  no  friend  to  either  him  or  Pope. 

'  Nov.  2,  1713,  Dr.  Swift  came  into  the  coffee-house,  and  had  a 
bow  from  every  body  but  me,  who,  I  confess,  could  not  but  despise 
him.  When  I  came  to  the  anti-chamber  to  wait,  before  prayers, 
Dr.  Swift  was  the  principal  man  of  talk  and  business,  and  acted  as 
•master  of  requests.  —  Then  he  instructed  a  young  nobleman  that 
the  best  Poet  in  England  was  Mr.  Pope  (a  papist),  who  had  begun 
a  translation  of  Homer  into  English  verse,  for  which  he  must  have 
them  all  subscribe;  for,  says  he,  the  author  shall  not  begin  to  print 
till  I  have  a  thousand  guineas  for  him.' 

About  this  time  it  is  likely  that  Steele,  who  was,  with  all  his 
politieal  fury,  good-natured  and  officious,  procured  an  interview 
between  these  angry  rivals,  which  ended  in  aggravated  malevolence. 
On  this  occasion,  if  the  reports  be  true,  Pope  made  his  complaint 
with  frankness  and  spirit,  as  a  man  undeservedly  neglected  or 
opposed ;  and  Addison  affected  a  contemptuous  unconcern,  and,  in 
a  calm  even  voice,  reproached  Pope  with  his  vanity,  and,  telling  him 
of  the  improvements  which  his  early  works  had  received  from  his 
own  remarks  and  those  of  Steele,  said,  that  he,  being  now  engaged  in 
publick  business,  had  no  longer  any  care  for  his  poetical  reputation  ; 
nor  had  any  other  desire,  with  regard  to  Pope,  than  that  he  should 
not,  by  too  much  arrogance,  alienate  the  publick. 

To  this  Pope  is  said  to  have  replied  with  great  keenness  and 
severity,  upbraiding  Addison  with  perpetual  dependance,  and 
with  the  abuse  of  those  qualifications  which  he  had  obtained  at  the 
publick  cost,  and  charging  him  with  mean  endeavours  to  obstruct 


THE  LIFE   OF  POPE  213 

the  progress  of  rising  merit.     The  contest  rose  so  high,  that  they 
parted  at  last  without  any  interchange  of  civility. 

The  first  volume  of  Homer  was  (1715)  in  time  published;  and  a 
rival  version  of  the  first  Iliad,  for  rivals  the  time  of  their  appearance 
inevitably  made  them,  was  immediately  printed,  with  the  name  of 
Tickell.  It  was  soon  perceived  that,  among  the  followers  of  Ad- 
dison,Tickell  had  the  preference,  and  the  criticksand  poets  divided 
into  factions.  7,  says  Pope,  have  the  town,  that  is,  the  mob,  on  my 
side;  but  it  is  not  uncommon  for  the  smaller  party  to  supply  by 
industry  what  it  wants  in  numbers. — /  appeal  to  the  people  as  my 
rightful  judges,  and,  while  they  are  not  inclined  to  condemn  me,  shall 
not  fear  the  high-flyers  at  Button's.  This  opposition  he  immediately 
imputed  to  Addison,  and  complained  of  it  in  terms  sufficiently 
resentful  to  Craggs,  their  common  friend. 

When  Addison's  opinion  was  asked,  he  declared  the  versions  to 
be  both  good,  but  Tickell's  the  best  that  had  ever  been  written ; 
and  sometimes  said  that- they  were  both  good,  but  that  Tickell  had 
more  of  Homer. 

Pope  was  now  sufficiently  irritated ;  his  reputation  and  his  in- 
terest were  at  hazard.  He  once  intended  to  print  together  the  four 
versions  of  Dryden,  Maynwaring,  Pope,  and  Tickell,  that  they 
might  be  readily  compared,  and  fairly  estimated.  This  design 
seems  to  have  been  defeated  by  the  refusal  of  Tonson,  who  was 
the  proprietor  of  the  other  three  versions. 

Pope  intended  at  another  time  a  rigorous  criticism  of  Tickell's 
translation,  and  had  marked  a  copy,  which  I  have  seen,  in  all 
places  that  appeared  defective.  But  while  he  was  thus  meditating 
defence  or  revenge,  his  adversary  sunk  before  him  without  a  blow; 
the  voice  of  the  publick  were  not  long  divided,  and  the  preference 
was  universally  given  to  Pope's  performance. 

He  was  convinced,  by  adding  one  circumstance  to  another,  that 
the  other  translation  was  the  work  of  Addison  himself ;  but  if  he 
knew  it  in  Addison's  lifetime,  it  does  not  appear  that  he  told  it.  He 
left  his  illustrious  antagonist  to  be  punished  by  what  has  been 
considered  as  the  most  painful  of  all  reflections,  the  remembrance 
of  a  crime  perpetrated  in  vain. 

The  other  circumstances  of  their  quarrel  were  thus  related  by 
Pope. 


214  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

'  Philips  seemed  to  have  been  encouraged  to  abuse  me  in  coffee- 
houses, and  conversations  :  and  Gildon  wrote  a  thing  about 
Wycherley,  in  which  he  had  abused  both  me  and  my  relations  very 
grossly.  Lord  Warwick  himself  told  me  one  day,  that  it  was  in  vain 
for  me  to  endeavour  to  be  well  with  Mr.  Addison ;  that  his  jealous 
temper  would  never  admit  of  a  settled  friendship  between  us;  and,  to 
convince  me  of  what  he  had  said,  assured  me,  that  Addison  had 
encouraged  Gildon  to  publish  those  scandals,  and  had  given  him  ten 
guineas  after  they  were  published.  The  next  day,  while  I  was 
heated  with  what  I  had  heard,  I  wrote  a  Letter  to  Mr.  Addison,  to 
let  him  know  that  Iwrasnot  unacquainted  with  this  behaviour  of  his ; 
that  if  I  was  to  speak  severely  of  him,  in  return  for  it,  it  should  be  in 
such  a  dirty  way,  that  I  should  rather  tell  him,  himself,  fairly  of 
his  faults,  and  allow  his  good  qualities ;  and  that  it  should  be  some- 
thing in  the  following  manner :  I  then  adjoined  the  first  sketch  of 
what  has  been  since  called  my  satire  on  Addison.  Mr.  Addison 
used  me  very  civilly  ever  after/ 

The  verses  on  Addison,  when  they  were  sent  to  Atterbury,  were 
considered  by  him  as  the  most  excellent  of  Pope's  performances; 
and  the  writer  was  advised,  since  he  knew  where  his  strength  lay, 
not  to  suffer  it  to  remain  unemployed. 

This  year  (1715)  being,  by  the  subscription,  enabled  to  live  more 
by  choice,  having  persuaded  his  father  to  sell  their  estate  at  Binfield-, 
he  purchased,  I  think  only  for  his  life,  that  house  at  Twickenham 
to  which  his  residence  afterwards  procured  so  much  celebration, 
and  removed  thither  with  his  father  and  mother. 

Here  he  planted  the  vines  and  the  quincunx  which  his  verses 
mention ;  and  being  under  the  necessity  of  making  a  subterraneous 
passage  to  a  garden  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  he  adorned  it 
with  fossile  bodies,  and  dignified  it  with  the  title  of  a  grotto;  a 
place  of  silence  and  retreat,  from  which  he  endeavoured  to  persuade 
his  friends  and  himself  that  cares  and  passions  could  be  excluded. 

A  grotto  is  not  often  the  wish  or  pleasure  of  an  Englishman,  who 
has  more  frquent  need  to  solicit  than  exclude  the  sun ;  but  Pope's 
excavation  was  requisite  as  an  entrance  to  his  garden,  and,  as  some 
men  try  to  be  proud  of  their  defects,  he  extracted  an  ornament  from 
an  inconvenience,  and  vanity  produced  a  grotto  where  necessity 
enforced  a  passage.  It  may  be  frequently  remarked  of  the  studious 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  215 

and  speculative,  that  they  are  proud  of  trifles,  and  that  their  amuse- 
ments seem  frivolous  and  childish;  whether  it  be  that  men  con- 
scious of  great  reputation  think  themselves  above  the  reach  of 
censure,  and  safe  in  the  admission  of  negligent  indulgences,  or  that 
mankind  expect  from  elevated  genius  an  uniformity  of  greatness, 
and  watch  its  degradation  with  malicious  wonder;  like  him  who 
having  followed  with  his  eye  an  eagle  into  the  clouds,  should  lament 
that  she  ever  descended  to  a  perch. 

While  the  volumes  of  his  Homer  were  annually  published,  he 
collected  his  former  works  (1717)  into  one  quarto  volume,  to  which 
he  prefixed  a  Preface,  written  with  great  spriteliness  and  elegance, 
which  was  afterwards  reprinted,  with  some  passages  subjoined  that 
he  at  first  omitted ;  other  marginal  additions  of  the  same  kind  he 
made  in  the  later  editions  of  his  poems.  Waller  remarks,  that  poets 
lose  half  their  praise,  because  the  reader  knows  not  what  they  have 
blotted.  Pope's  voracity  of  fame  taught  him  the  art  of  obtaining 
the  accumulated  honour  both  of  what  he  had  published,  and  of 
what  he  had  suppressed. 

In  this  year  his  father  died  suddenly,  in  his  seventy-fifth  year, 
having  passed  twenty-nine  years  in  privacy.  He  is  not  known  but 
by  the  character  which  his  son  has  given  him.  If  the  money  with 
which  he  retired  was  all  gotten  by  himself,  he  had  traded  very  suc- 
cessfully in  times  when  sudden  riches  were  rarely  attainable. 

The  publication  of  the  Iliad  was  at  last  completedin  1720.  The 
splendour  and  success  of  this  work  raised  Pope  many  enemies,  that 
endeavoured  to  depreciate  his  abilities.  Burnet,  who  was  afterwards 
a  Judge  of  no  mean  reputation,  censured  him  in  a  piece  called 
Ilomerides  before  it  was  published ;  Ducket  likewise  endeavoured 
to  make  him  ridiculous.  Dennis  was  the  perpetual  persecutor 
of  all  his  studies.  But,  whoever  his  criticks  were,  their  writings  are 
lost,  and  the  names  which  are  preserved,  are  preserved  in  the 
Dunciad. 

In  this  disastrous  year  (1720)  of  national  infatuation,  when 
more  riches  than  Peru  can  boast  were  expected  from  the  South  Sea, 
when  the  contagion  of  avarice  tainted  every  mind,  and  even  poets 
panted  after  wealth,  Pope  was  seized  with  the  universal  passion, 
and  ventured  some  of  his  money.  The  stock  rose  in  its  price ;  and 
he  for  a  while  thought  himself  the  Lord  of  thousands.  But  this 


2l6  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

dream  of  happiness  did  not  last  long,  and  he  seems  to  have  waked 
soon  enough  to  get  clear  with  the  loss  only  of  what  he  once  thought 
himself  to  have  won,  and  perhaps  not  wholly  of  that. 

Next  year  he  published  some  select  poems  of  his  friend  Dr. 
Parnell,  with  a  very  elegant  Dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford ;  who, 
after  all  his  struggles  and  dangers,  then  lived  in  retirement,  still 
under  the  frown  of  a  victorious  faction,  who  could  take  no  pleasure 
in  hearing  his  praise. 

He  gave  the  same  year  (1721)  an  edition  of  Shakespeare.  His 
name  was  now  of  so  much  authority,  that  Tonson  thought  himself 
entitled,  by  annexing  it,  to  demand  a  subscription  of  six  guineas 
for  Shakespeare's  plays  in  six  quarto  volumes;  nor  did  his  expec- 
tation much  deceive  him ;  for  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  which  he 
printed,  he  dispersed  a  great  number  at  the  price  proposed.  The 
reputation  of  that  edition  indeed  sunk  afterwards  so  low,  that  one 
hundred  and  forty  copies  were  sold  at  sixteen  shillings  each. 

On  this  undertaking,  to  which  Pope  was  induced  by  a  reward  of 
two  hundred  and  seventeen  pounds  twelve  shillings,  he  seemed 
never  to  have  reflected  afterwards  without  vexation;  for  Theobald, 
a  man  of  heavy  diligence,  with  very  slender  powers,  first,  in  a  book 
called  Shakespeare  Restored,  and  then  in  a  formal  edition,  detected 
his  deficiencies  with  all  the  insolence  of  victory;  and,  as  he  was 
now  high  enough  to  be  feared  and  hated,  Theobald  had  from 
others  all  the  help  that  could  be  supplied,  by  the  desire  of  hum- 
bling a  haughty  character. 

From  this  time  Pope  became  an  enemy  to  editors,  collators,  com- 
mentators, and  verbal  criticks;  and  hoped  to  persuade  the  world, 
that  he  miscarried  in  this  undertaking  only  by  having  a  mind  too 
great  for  such  minute  employment. 

Pope  in  his  edition  undoubtedly  did  many  things  wrong,  and 
left  many  things  undone;  but  let  him  not  be  defrauded  of  his  due 
praise.  He  was  the  first  that  knew,  at  least  the  first  that  told,  by 
what  helps  the  text  might  be  improved.  If  he  inspected  the  early 
editions  negligently,  he  taught  others  to  be  more  accurate.  In  his 
Preface  he  expanded  with  great  skill  and  elegance  the  character 
which  had  been  given  of  Shakespeare  by  Dryden ;  and  he  drew  the 
publick  attention  upon  his  works,  which,  though  often  mentioned, 
had  been  little  read. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  21 7 

Soon  after  the  appearance  of  the  Iliad,  resolving  not  to  let  the 
general  kindness  cool,  he  published  proposals  for  a  translation  of 
the  Odyssey,  in  five  volumes,  for  five  guineas.  He  was  willing,  how- 
ever, now  to  have  associates  in  his  labour,  being  either  weary 
with  toiling  upon  another's  thoughts,  or  having  heard,  as  Ruffhead 
relates,  that  Fenton  and  Broome  had  already  begun  the  work,  and 
liking  better  to  have  them  confederates  than  rivals. 

In  the  patent,  instead  of  saying  that  he  had  translated  the  Odyssey, 
as  he  had  said  of  the  Iliad,  he  says  that  he  had  undertaken  a  trans- 
lation ;  and  in  the  proposals  the  subscription  is  said  to  be  not  solely 
for  his  own  use,  but  for  that  of  two  of  his  friends  who  have  assisted 
him  in  this  work. 

In  1723,  while  he  was  engaged  in  this  new  version,  he  appeared 
before  the  Lords  at  the  memorable  trial  of  Bishop  Atterbury,  with 
wrhom  he  had  lived  in  great  familiarity,  and  frequent  correspond- 
ence. Atterbury  had  honestly  recommended  to  him  the  study  of 
the  popish  controversy,  in  hope  of  his  conversion ;  to  which  Pope 
answered  in  a  manner  that  cannot  much  recommend  his  principles, 
or  his  judgement.  In  questions  and  projects  of  learning,  they 
agreed  better.  He  was  called  at  the  trial  to  give  an  account  of 
Atterbury's  domestick  life,  and  private  employment,  that  it  might 
appear  how  little  time  he  had  left  for  plots.  Pope  had  but  few 
words  to  utter,  and  in  those  few  he  made  several  blunders. 

His  Letters  to  Atterbury  express  the  utmost  esteem,  tenderness, 
and  gratitude :  perhaps,  says  he,  it  is  not  only  in  this  world  that  I 
may  have  cause  to  remember  the  Bishop  of  Rochester.  At  their  last 
interview  in  the  Tower,  Atterbury  presented  him  with  a  Bible. 

Of  the  Odyssey  Pope  translated  only  twelve  books ;  the  rest  were 
the  work  of  Broome  and  Fenton :  the  notes  were  written  wholly 
by  Broome,  who  was  not  over-liberally  rewarded.  The  Publick 
was  carefully  kept  ignorant  of  the  several  shares ;  and  an  account 
was  subjoined  at  the  conclusion,  which  is  now  known  not  to  be  true. 

The  first  copy  of  Pope's  books,  with  those  of  Fenton,  are  to  be 
seen  in  the  Museum.  The  parts  of  Pope  are  less  interlined  than 
the  Iliad,  and  the  latter  books  of  the  Iliad  less  than  the  former. 
He  grew  dexterous  by  practice,  and  every  sheet  enabled  him  to  write 
the  next  with  more  facility.  The  books  of  Fenton  have  very  few 
alterations  by  the  hand  of  Pope.  Those  of  Broome  have  not  been 


2l8  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

found ;  but  Pope  complained,  as  it  is  reported,  that  he  had  much 
trouble  in  correcting  them. 

His  contract  with  Lintot  was  the  same  as  for  the  Iliad,  except 
that  only  one  hundred  pounds  were  to  be  paid  him  for  each  volume. 
The  number  of  subscribers  was  five  hundred  and  seventy-four, 
and  of  copies  eight  hundred  and  nineteen ;  so  that  his  profit,  when 
he  had  paid  his  assistants,  was  still  very  considerable.  The  work 
was  finished  in  1725,  and  from  that  time  he  resolved  to  make  no 
more  translations. 

The  sale  did  not  answer  Lintot's  expectation,  and  he  then  pre- 
tended to  discover  something  of  fraud  in  Pope,  and  commenced 
or  threatened,  a  suit  in  Chancery. 

On  the  English  Odyssey  a  criticism  was  published  by  Spence,  at 
that  time  Prelector  of  Poetry  at  Oxford;  a  man  whose  learning 
was  not  very  great,  and  whose  mind  was  not  very  powerful.  His 
criticism,  however,  was  commonly  just;  what  he  thought,  he 
thought  rightly;  and  his  remarks  were  recommended  by  his  coolness 
and  candour.  In  him  Pope  had  the  first  experience  of  a  critick 
without  malevolence,  who  thought  it  as  much  his  duty  to  display 
beauties  as  expose  faults;  who  censured  with  respect,  and  praised 
with  alacrity. 

With  this  criticism  Pope  was  so  little  offended,  that  he  sought 
the  acquaintance  of  the  writer,  who  lived  with  him  from  that  time 
in  great  familiarity,  attended  him  in  his  last  hours,  and  compiled 
memorials  of  his  conversation.  The  regard  of  Pope  recom- 
mended him  to  the  great  and  powerful,  and  he  obtained  very  valu- 
able preferments  in  the  Church. 

Not  long  after  Pope  was  returning  home  from  a  visit  in  a  friend's 
coach,  which,  in  passing  a  bridge,  was  overturned  into  the  water; 
the  windows  were  closed,  and  being  unable  to  force  them  open,  he 
was  in  danger  of  immediate  death,  when  the  postilion  snatched 
him  out  by  breaking  the  glass,  of  which  the  fragments  cut  two  of 
his  fingers  in  such  a  manner,  that  he  lost  their  use. 

Voltaire,  who  was  then  in  England,  sent  him  a  Letter  of  Conso- 
lation. He  had  been  entertained  by  Pope  at  his  table,  where  he 
talked  with  so  much  grossness  that  Mrs.  Pope  was  driven  from  the 
room.  Pope  discovered,  by  a  trick,  that  he  was  a  spy  for  the  Court, 
and  never  considered  him  as  a  man  worthy  of  confidence. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  219 

He  soon  afterwards  (1727)  joined  with  Swift,  who  was  then  in 
England,  to  publish  three  volumes  of  Miscellanies,  in  which  amongst 
other  things  he  inserted  the  Memoirs  of  a  Parish  Clerk,  in  ridicule 
of  Burnet's  importance  in  his  own  History,  and  a  Debate  upon 
Black  and  White  Horses,  written  in  all  the  formalities  of  a  legal 
process  by  the  assistance,  as  is  said,  of  Mr.  Fortescue,  afterwards 
Master  of  the  Rolls.  Before  these  Miscellanies  is  a  preface  signed 
by  Swift  and  Pope,  but  apparently  written  by  Pope;  in  which  he 
makes  a  ridiculous  and  romantick  complaint  of  the  robberies  com- 
mitted upon  authors  by  the  clandestine  seizure  and  sale  of  their 
papers.  He  tells,  in  tragick  strains,  how  the  cabinets  of  the  Sick* 
and  the  closets  of  the  Dead  have  been  broke  open  and  ransacked; 
as  if  those  violences  were  often  committed  for  papers  of  uncertain 
and  accidental  value,  which  are  rarely  provoked  by  real  treasures ; 
as  if  epigrams  and  essays  were  in  danger  where  gold  and  diamonds 
are  safe.  A  cat,  hunted  for  his  musk,  is,  according  to  Pope's 
account,  but  the  emblem  of  a  wit  winded  by  booksellers. 

His  complaint,  however,  received  some  attestation ;  for  the,same 
year  the  Letters  written  by  him  to  Mr.  Cromwell,  in  his  youth, 
were  sold  by  Mrs.  Thomas  to  Curll,  who  printed  them. 

In  these  Miscellanies  was  first  published  the  Art  of  Sinking  in 
Poetry,  which,  by  such  a  train  of  consequences  as  usually  passes 
in  literary  quarrels,  gave  in  a  short  time,  according  to  Pope's 
account,  occasion  to  the  Dunciad. 

In  the  following  year  (1728)  he  began  to  put  Atterbury's  advice 
in  practice;  and  shewed  his  satirical  powers  by  publishing  the 
Dunciad,  one  of  his  greatest  and  most  elaborate  performances, 
in  which  he  endeavoured  to  sink  into  contempt  all  the  writers  by 
whom  he  had  been  attacked,  and  some  others  whom  he  thought 
unable  to  defend  themselves. 

At  the  head  of  the  Dunces  he  placed  poor  Theobald,  whom  he 
accused  of  ingratitude ;  but  whose  real  crime  was  supposed  to  be 
that  of  having  revised  Shakespeare  more  happily  than  himself. 
This  satire  had  the  effect  which  he  intended,  by  blasting  the  char- 
acters which  it  touched.  Ralph,  who,  unnecessarily  interposing 
in  the  quarrel,  got  a  place  in  a  subsequent  edition,  complained 
that  for  a  time  he  was  in  danger  of  starving,  as  the  booksellers 
had  no  longer  any  confidence  in  his  capacity. 


220  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

The  prevalence  of  this  poem  was  gradual  and  slow:  the  plan, 
if  not  wholly  new,  was  little  understood  by  common  readers. 
Many  of  the  allusions  required  illustration ;  the  names  were  often 
expressed  only  by  the  initial  and  final  letters,  and,  if  they  had  been 
printed  at  length,  were  such  as  few  had  known  or  recollected. 
The  subject  itself  had  nothing  generally  interesting,  for  whom 
did  it  concern  to  know  that  one  or  another  scribbler  was  a  dunce  ? 
If  therefore  it  had  been  possible  for  those  who  were  attacked  to 
conceal  their  pain  and  their  resentment,  the  Dunciad  might  have 
made  its  way  very  slowly  in  the  world. 

This,  however,  was  not  to  be  expected:  every  man  is  of  im- 
portance to  himself,  and  therefore,  in  his  own  opinion,  to  others; 
and,  supposing  the  world  already  acquainted  with  all  his  pleasures 
and  his  pains,  is  perhaps  the  first  to  publish  in  juries  or  misfortunes, 
which  had  never  been  known  unless  related  by  himself,  and  at 
which  those  that  hear  them  will  only  laugh ;  for  no  man  sympathises 
with  the  sorrows  of  vanity. 

The  history  of  the  Dunciad  is  very  minutely  related  by  Pope 
himself,  in  a  Dedication  which  he  wrote  to  Lord  Middlesex  in 
the  name  of  Savage. 

'I  will  relate  the  war  of  the  Dunces  (for  so  it  has  been  com- 
monly called),  which  began  in  the  year  1727,  and  ended  in 
1730. 

'  When  Dr.  Swift  and  Mr.  Pope  thought  it  proper,  for  reasons 
specified  in  the  Preface  to  their  Miscellanies,  to  publish  such 
little  pieces  of  theirs  as  had  casually  got  abroad,  there  was  added 
to  them  the  Treatise  of  the  Bathos,  or  the  Art  of  Sinking  in  Poetry. 
It  happened  that  in  one  chapter  of  this  piece,  the  several  species 
of  bad  poets  were  ranged  in  classes,  to  which  were  prefixed  almost 
all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  (the  greatest  part  of  them  at  random) ; 
but  such  was  the  number  of  poets  eminent  in  that  art,  that  some  one 
or  other  took  every  letter  to  himself :  all  fell  into  so  violent  a  fury, 
that,  for  half  a  year  or  more,  the  common  newspapers  (in  most 
of  which  they  had  some  property,  as  being  hired  writers)  were 
filled  with  the  most  abusive  falsehoods  and  scurrilities  they  could 
possibly  devise.  A  liberty  no  way  to  be  wondered  at  in  those 
people,  and  in  those  papers,  that  for  many  years,  during  the  un- 
controuled  license  of  the  press,  had  aspersed  almost  all  the  great 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  221 

characters  of  the  age ;  and  this  with  impunity,  their  own  persons 
and  names  being  utterly  secret  and  obscure. 

'This  gave  Mr.  Pope  the  thought,  that  he  had  now  some  op- 
portunity of  doing  good,  by  detecting  and  dragging  into  light  these 
common  enemies  of  mankind;  since  to  invalidate  this  universal 
slander,  it  sufficed  to  shew  what  contemptible  men  were  the 
authors  of  it.  He  was  not  without  hopes,  that,  by  manifesting  the 
dulness  of  those  who  had  only  malice  to  recommend  them,  either 
the  booksellers  would  not  find  their  account  in  employing  them, 
or  the  men  themselves,  when  discovered,  want  courage  to  proceed 
in  so  unlawful  an  occupation.  This  it  was  that  gave  birth  to  the 
Dunciad;  and  he  thought  it  an  happiness,  that,  by  the  late  flood 
of  slander  on  himself,  he  had  acquired  such  a  peculiar  right  over 
their  names  as  was  necessary  to  this  design. 

'On  the  i2th  of  March,  1729,  at  St.  James's,  that  poem  was 
presented  to  the  King  and  Queen  (who  had  before  been  pleased 
to  read  it)  by  the  right  honourable  Sir  Robert  Walpole ;  and  some 
days  after  the  whole  impression  was  taken  and  dispersed  by  several 
noblemen  and  persons  of  the  first  distinction. 

'It  is  certainly  a  true  observation,  that  no  people  are  so  im- 
patient of  censure  as  those  who  are  the  greatest  slanderers,  which 
was  wonderfully  exemplified  on  this  occasion.  On  the  day  the 
book  was  first  vended,  a  crowd  of  authors  besieged  the  shop ;  in- 
treaties,  advices,  threats  of  law  and  battery,  nay  cries  of  treason, 
were  all  employed  to  hinder  the  coming-out  of  the  Dunciad:  on 
the  other  side,  the  booksellers  and  hawkers  made  as  great  efforts 
to  procure  it.  What  could  a  few  poor  authors  do  against  so  great 
a  majority  as  the  publick  ?  There  was  no  stopping  a  torrent  with 
a  finger,  so  out  it  came. 

'Many  ludicrous  circumstances  attended  it.  The  Dunces  (for 
by  this  name  they  were  called)  held  weekly  clubs,  to  consult  of 
hostilities  against  the  author :  one  wrote  a  Letter  to  a  great  minister, 
assuring  him  Mr.  Pope  was  the  greatest  enemy  the  government 
had;  and  another  bought  his  image  in  clay,  to  execute  him  in 
effigy,  with  which  sad  sort  of  satisfaction  the  gentlemen  were  a 
little  comforted. 

'  Some  false  editions  of  the  book  having  an  owl  in  their  frontis- 
piece, the  true  one,  to  distinguish  it,  fixed  in  his  stead  an  ass  laden 


222  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

with  authors.  Then  another  surreptitious  one  being  printed  with 
the  same  ass,  the  new  edition  in  octavo  returned  for  distinction  to 
the  owl  again.  Hence  arose  a  great  contest  of  booksellers  against 
booksellers,  and  advertisements  against  advertisements;  some 
recommending  the  edition  of  the  owl,  and  others  the  edition  of  the 
ass;  by  which  names  they  came  to  be  distinguished,  to  the  great 
honour  also  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Dunciad.1 

Pope  appears  by  this  narrative  to  have  contemplated  his  victory 
over  the  Dunces  with  great  exultation;  and  such  was  his  delight 
in  the  tumult  which  he  had  raised,  that  for  a  while  his  natural 
sensibility  was  suspended,  and  he  read  reproaches  and  invectives 
without  emotion,  considering  them  only  as  the  necessary  effects 
of  that  pain  which  he  rejoiced  in  having  given. 

It  cannot  however  be  concealed  that,  by  his  own  confession,  he 
was  the  aggressor;  for  nobody  believes  that  the  letters  in  the 
Bathos  were  placed  at  random;  and  it  may  be  discovered  that, 
when  he  thinks  himself  concealed,  he  indulges  the  common  vanity 
of  common  men,  and  triumphs  in  those  distinctions  which  he  had 
affected  to  despise.  He  is  proud  that  his  book  was  presented  to 
the  King  and  Queen  by  the  right  honourable  Sir  Robert  Walpole ; 
he  is  proud  that  they  had  read  it  before;  he  is  proud  that  the 
edition  was  taken  off  by  the  nobility  and  persons  of  the  first  dis- 
tinction. 

The  edition  of  which  he  speaks  was,  I  believe,  that,  which  by 
telling  in  the  text  the  names  and  in  the  notes  the  characters  of 
those  whom  he  had  satirised,  was  made  intelligible  and  diverting. 
The  criticks  had  now  declared  their  approbation  of  the  plan,  and 
the  common  reader  began  to  like  it  without  fear ;  those  who  were 
strangers  to  petty  literature,  and  therefore  unable  to  decipher 
initials  and  blanks,  had  now  names  and  persons  brought  within 
their  view;  and  delighted  in  the  visible  effect  of  those  shafts  of 
malice  which  they  had  hitherto  contemplated,  as  shot  into  the  air. 

Dennis,  upon  the  fresh  provocation  now  given  him,  renewed 
the  enmity  which  had  for  a  time  been  appeased  by  mutual  civilities ; 
and  published  remarks,  which  he  had  till  then  suppressed,  upon 
the  Rape  of  the  Lock.  Many  more  grumbled  in  secret,  or  vented 
their  resentment  -in  the  newspapers  by  epigrams  or  invectives. 

Ducket,  indeed,  being  mentioned  as  loving  Burnet  with  pious 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  223 

passion,  pretended  that  his  moral  character  was  injured,  and  for 
sometime  declared  his  resolution  to  take  vengeance  with  a  cudgel. 
But  Pope  appeased  him  by  changing  pious  passion  to  cordial 
friendship,  and  by  a  note,  in  which  he  vehemently  disclaims  the 
malignity  of  meaning  imputed  to  the  first  impression. 

Aaron  Hill,  who  was  represented  as  diving  for  the  prize,  ex- 
postulated with  Pope  in  a  manner  so  much  superior  to  all  mean 
solicitation,  that  Pope  was  reduced  to  sneak  and  shuffle,  sometimes 
to  deny,  and  sometimes  to  apologize ;  he  first  endeavours  to  wound, 
and  is  then  afraid  to  own  that  he  meant  a  blow. 

The  Dunciad,  in  the  complete  edition,  is  addressed  to  Dr.  Swift : 
of  the  notes,  part  was  written  by  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  and  an  apologeti- 
cal  Letter  was  prefixed,  signed  by  Cleland,  but  supposed  to  have 
been  written  by  Pope. 

After  this  general  war  upon  dulness,  he  seems  to  have  indulged 
himself  awhile  in  tranquillity;  but  his  subsequent  productions 
prove  that  he  was  not  idle.  He  published  (1731)  a  poem  on  Taste, 
in  which  he  very  particularly  and  severely  criticises  the  house, 
the  furniture,  the  gardens,  and  the  entertainments  of  Timon,  a 
man  of  great  wealth  and  little  taste.  By  Timon  he  was  universally 
supposed,  and  by  the  Earl  of  Burlington,  to  whom  the  poem  is 
addressed,  was  privately  said,  to  mean  the  Duke  of  Chandos;  a 
man  perhaps  too  much  delighted  with  pomp  and  show,  but  of 
a  temper  kind  and  beneficent,  and  who  had  consequently  the  voice 
of  the  publick  in  his  favour. 

A  violent  outcry  was  therefore  raised  against  the  ingratitude 
and  treachery  of  Pope,  who  was  said  to  have  been  indebted  to 
the  patronage  of  Chandos  for  a  present  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
and  who  gained  the  opportunity  of  insulting  him  by  the  kindness 
of  his  invitation. 

The  receipt  of  the  thousand  pounds  Pope  publickly  denied ;  but 
from  the  reproach  which  the  attack  on  a  character  so  amiable 
brought  upon  him,  he  tried  all  means  of  escaping.  The  name  of 
Cleland  was  again  employed  in  an  apology,  by  which  no  man  was 
satisfied ;  and  he  was  at  last  reduced  to  shelter  his  temerity  behind 
dissimulation,  and  endeavour  to  make  that  disbelieved  which  he 
never  had  confidence  openly  to  deny.  He  wrote  an  exculpatory 
letter  to  the  Duke,  which  was  answered  with  great  magnanimity, 


224  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

as  by  a  man  who  accepted  his  excuse  without  believing  his  pro- 
fessions. He  said,  that  to  have  ridiculed  his  taste,  or  his  buildings, 
had  been  an  indifferent  action  in  another  man;  but  that  in  Pope, 
after  the  reciprocal  kindness  that  had  been  exchanged  between 
them,  it  had  been  less  easily  excused. 

Pope,  in  one  of  his  Letters,  complaining  of  the  treatment  which 
his  poem  had  found,  owns  that  such  criticks  can  intimidate  him, 
nay  almost  persuade  him  to  write  no  more,  which  is  a  compliment 
this  age  deserves.  The  man  who  threatens  the  world  is  always 
ridiculous;  for  the  world  can  easily  go  on  without  him,  and  in 
a  short  time  will  cease  to  miss  him.  I  have  heard  of  an  idiot, 
who  used  to  revenge  his  vexations  by  lying  all  night  upon  the 
bridge.  There  is  nothing,  says  Juvenal,  that  a  man  will  not  be- 
lieve in  his  own  favour.  Pope  had  been  flattered  till  he  thought 
himself  one  of  the  moving  powers  in  the  system  of  life.  When 
he  talked  of  laying  down  his  pen,  those  who  sat  round  him  intreated 
and  implored,  and  self-love  did  not  suffer  him  to  suspect  that  they 
went  away  and  laughed. 

The  following  year  deprived  him  of  Gay,  a  man  whom  he  had 
known  early,  and  whom  he  seemed  to  love  with  more  tenderness 
than  any  other  of  his  literary  friends.  Pope  was  now  forty-four 
years  old;  an  age  at  which  the  mind  begins  less  easily  to  admit 
new  confidence,  and  the  will  to  grow  less  flexible,  and  when  there- 
fore the  departure  of  an  old  friend  is  very  acutely  felt. 

In  the  next  year  he  lost  his  mother,  not  by  an  unexpected  death, 
for  she  had  lasted  to  the  age  of  ninety-three ;  but  she  did  not  die 
unlamented.  The  filial  piety  of  Pope  was  in  the  highest  degree 
amiable  and  exemplary;  his  parents  had  the  happiness  of  living 
till  he  was  at  the  summit  of  poetical  reputation,  till  he  was  at  ease 
in  his  fortune,  and  without  a  rival  in  his  fame,  and  found  no  dimi- 
nution of  his  respect  or  tenderness.  Whatever  was  his  pride, 
to  them  he  was  obedient;  and  whatever  was  his  irritability,  to 
them  he  was  gentle.  Life  has,  among  its  soothing  and  quiet  com- 
forts, few  things  better  to  give  than  such  a  son. 

One  of  the  passages  of  Pope's  life,  which  seems  to  deserve  some 
enquiry,  was  a  publication  of  Letters  between  him  and  many  of 
his  friends,  which  falling  into  the  hands  of  Curll,  a  rapacious  book- 
seller of  no  good  fame,  were  by  him  printed  and  sold.  This 


THE  LIFE   OF   POPE  22$ 

volume  containing  some  Letters  from  noblemen,  Pope  incited  a 
prosecution  against  him  in  the  House  of  Lords  for  breach  of 
privilege,  and  attended  himself  to  stimulate  the  resentment  of  his 
friends.  Curll  appeared  at  the  bar,  and,  knowing  himself  in  no 
great  danger,  spoke  of  Pope  with  very  little  reverence.  He  has, 
said  Curll,  a  knack  at  versifying,  but  in  prose  I  think  myself  a  match 
for  him.  When  the  orders  of  the  House  were  examined,  none  of 
them  appeared  to  have  been  infringed ;  Curll  went  away  trium- 
phant, and  Pope  was  left  to  seek  some  other  remedy. 

CurlPs  account  was,  that  one  evening  a  man  in  a  clergyman's 
gown,  but  with  a  lawyer's  band,  brought  and  offered  to  sale  a  num- 
ber of  printed  volumes,  which  he  found  to  be  Pope's  epistolary 
correspondence;  that  he  asked  no  name,  and  was  told  none,  but 
gave  the  price  demanded,  and  thought  himself  authorised  to  use 
his  purchase  to  his  own  advantage. 

That  Curll  gave  a  true  account  of  the  transaction,  it  is  reasonable 
to  believe,  because  no  falsehood  was  ever  detected;  and  when 
some  years  afterwards  I  mentioned  it  to  Lintot,  the  son  of  Bernard, 
he  declared  his  opinion  to  be,  that  Pope  knew  better  than  any  body 
else  how  Curll  obtained  the  copies,  because  another  parcel  was  at 
the  same  time  sent  to  himself,  for  which  no  price  had  ever  been 
demanded,  as  he  made  known  his  resolution  not  to  pay  a  porter, 
and  consequently  not  to  deal  with  a  nameless  agent. 

Such  care  had  been  taken  to  make  them  publick,  that  they  were 
sent  at  once  to  two  booksellers ;  to  Curll,  who  was  likely  to  seize 
them  as  a  prey,  and  to  Lintot,  who  might  be  expected  to  give  Pope 
information  of  the  seeming  injury.  Lintot,  I  believe,  did  nothing; 
and  Curll  did  what  was  expected.  That  to  make  them  publick 
was  the  only  purpose  may  be  reasonably  supposed,  because  the 
numbers  offered  to  sale  by  the  private  messengers  shewed  that 
hope  of  gain  could  not  have  been  the  motive  of  the  impression. 

It  seems  that  Pope,  being  desirous  of  printing  his  Letters,  and 
not  knowing  how  to  do,  without  imputation  of  vanity,  what  has 
in  this  country  been  done  very  rarely,  contrived  an  appearance 
of  compulsion ;  that  when  he  could  complain  that  his  Letters  were 
surreptitiously  published,  he  might  decently  and  defensively  pub- 
lish them  himself. 

Pope's  private  correspondence,  thus  promulgated,  filled  the 
Q 


226  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

nation  with  praises  of  his  candour,  tenderness,  and  benevolence, 
the  purity  of  his  purposes,  and  the  fidelity  of  his  friendship.  There 
were  some  Letters  which  a  very  good  or  a  very  wise  man  would 
wish  suppressed;  but,  as  they  had  been  already  exposed,  it  was 
impracticable  now  to  retract  them. 

From  the  perusal  of  those  Letters,  Mr.  Allen  first  conceived  the 
desire  of  knowing  him;  and  with  so  much  zeal  did  he  cultivate 
the  friendship  which  he  had  newly  formed,  that  when  Pope  told 
his  purpose  of  vindicating  his  own  property  by  a  genuine  edition, 
he  offered  to  pay  the  cost. 

This,  however,  Pope  did  not  accept ;  but  in  time  solicited  a  sub- 
scription for  a  Quarto  volume,  which  appeared  (1737),  I  believe, 
with  sufficient  profit.  In  the  Preface  he  tells  that  his  Letters 
were  reposited  in  a  friend's  library,  said  to  be  the  Earl  of  Oxford's, 
and  that  the  copy  thence  stolen  was  sent  to  the  press.  The  story 
was  doubtless  received  with  different  degrees  of  credit.  It  may 
be  suspected  that  the  Preface  to  the  Miscellanies  was  written  to 
prepare  the  publick  for  such  an  incident;  and  to  strengthen  this 
opinion,  James  Worsdale,  a  painter,  who  was  employed  in  clandes- 
tine negotiations,  but  whose  veracity  was  very  doubtful,  declared 
that  he  was  the  messenger  who  carried,  by  Pope's  direction,  the 
books  to  Curll. 

When  they  were  thus  published  and  avowed,  as  they  had  re- 
lation to  recent  facts,  and  persons  either  then  living  or  not  yet 
forgotten,  they  may  be  supposed  to  have  found  readers;  but  as 
the  facts  were  minute,  and  the  characters  being  either  private  or 
literary,  were  little  known,  or  little  regarded,  they  awakened  no 
popular  kindness  or  resentment:  the  book  never  became  much 
the  subject  of  conversation ;  some  read  it  as  contemporary  history, 
and  some  perhaps  as  a  model  of  epistolary  language;  but  those 
who  read  it  did  not  talk  of  it.  Not  much  therefore  was  added  by 
it  to  fame  or  envy;  nor  do  I  remember  that  it  produced  either 
publick  praise,  or  publick  censure. 

It  had,  however,  in  some  degree,  the  recommendation  of  novelty. 
Our  language  has  few  Letters,  except  those  of  statesmen.  Howel 
indeed,  about  a  century  ago,  published  his  Letters,  which  are 
commended  by  Morhoff ,  and  which  alone  of  his  hundred  volumes 
continue  his  memory.  Loveday's  Letters  were  printed  only  once ; 


THE   LIFE  OF  POPE  227 

those  of  Herbert  and  Suckling  are  hardly  known.  Mrs.  Phillip's 
[Orinda's]  are  equally  neglected ;  and  those  of  Walsh  seem  written 
as  exercises,  and  were  never  sent  to  any  living  mistress  or  friend. 
Pope's  epistolary  excellence  had  an  open  field ;  he  had  no  English 
rival,  living  or  dead. 

Pope  is  seen  in  this  collection  as  connected  with  the  other  con- 
temporary wits,  and  certainly  suffers  no  disgrace  in  the  comparison ; 
but  it  must  be  remembered,  that  he  had  the  power  of  favouring 
himself:  he  might  have  originally  had  publication  in  his  mind, 
and  have  written  with  care,  or  have  afterwards  selected  those 
which  he  had  most  happily  conceived,  or  most  diligently  laboured; 
and  I  know  not  whether  there  does  not  appear  something  more 
studied  and  artificial  in  his  productions  than  the  rest,  except  one 
long  Letter  by  Bolingbroke,  composed  with  all  the  skill  and  in- 
dustry of  a  professed  author.  It  is  indeed  not  easy  to  distinguish 
affectation  from  habit ;  he  that  has  once  studiously  formed  a  style, 
rarely  writes  afterwards  with  complete  ease.  Pope  may  be  said 
to  write  always  with  his  reputation  in  his  head ;  .  Swift  perhaps 
like  a  man  who  remembered  that  he  was  writing  to  Pope;  but 
Arbuthnot  like  one  who  lets  thoughts  drop  from  his  pen  as  they 
rise  into  his  mind. 

Before  these  Letters  appeared,  he  published  the  first  part  of 
what  he  persuaded  himself  to  think  a  system  of  Ethicks,  under  the 
title  of  an  Essay  on  Man,  which,  if  his  Letter  to  Swift  (of  Sept. 
14,  1725)  be  rightly  explained  by  the  commentator,  had  been 
eight  years  under  his  consideration,  and  of  which  he  seems  to  have 
desired  the  success  with  great  solicitude.  He  had  now  many 
open  and  doubtless  many  secret  enemies.  The  Dunces  were  yet 
smarting  with  the  war;  and  the  superiority  which  he  publickly 
arrogated,  disposed  the  world  to  wish  his  humiliation. 

All  this  he  knew,  and  against  all  this  he  provided.  His  own 
name,  and  that  of  his  friend  to  whom  the  work  is  inscribed,  were 
in  the  first  editions  carefully  suppressed;  and  the  poem,  being 
of  a  new  kind,  was  ascribed  to  one  or  another,  as  favour  determined, 
or  conjecture  wandered;  it  was  given,  says  Warburton,  to  every 
man  except  him  only  who  could  write  it.  Those  who  like  only 
when  they  like  the  author,  and  who  are  under  the  dominion  of  a 
name,  condemned  it;  and  those  admired  it  who  are  willing  to 


228  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

scatter  praise  at  random,  which  while  it  is  unappropriated  excites 
no  envy.  Those  friends  of  Pope,  that  were  trusted  with  the  secret, 
went  about  lavishing  honours  on  the  new-born  poet,  and  hinting 
that  Pope  was  never  so  much  in  danger  from  any  former  rival. 

To  those  authors  whom  he  had  personally  offended,  and  to 
those  whose  opinion  the  world  considered  as  decisive,  and  whom 
he  suspected  of  envy  or  malevolence,  he  sent  his  essay  as  a  present 
before  publication,  that  they  might  defeat  their  own  enmity  by 
praises,  which  they  could  not  afterwards  decently  retract. 

With  these  precautions,  in  1733  was  published  the  first  part  of 
the  Essay  on  Man.  There  had  been  for  some  time  a  report  that 
Pope  was  busy  upon  a  System  of  Morality;  but  this  design  was 
not  discovered  in  the  new  poem,  which  had  a  form  and  a  title  with 
which  its  readers  were  unacquainted.  Its  reception  was  not  uni- 
form ;  some  thought  it  a  very  imperfect  piece,  though  not  without 
good  lines.  While  the  author  was  unknown,  some,  as  will  always 
happen,  favoured  him  as  an  adventurer,  and  some  censured  him 
as  an  intruder;  but  all  thought  him  above  neglect;  the  sale  in- 
creased, and  editions  were  multiplied. 

The  subsequent  editions  of  the  first  Epistle  exhibited  two  memo- 
rable corrections.  At  first,  the  poet  and  his  friend 

Expatiate  freely  o'er  this  scene  of  man, 
A  mighty  maze  of  walks  without  a  plan. 

For  which  he  wrote  afterwards, 

A  mighty  maze,  but  not  without  a  plan: 

for,  if  there  were  no  plan,  it  was  in  vain  to  describe  or  trace  the 
maze. 
The  other  alteration  was  of  these  lines: 

And  spite  of  pride,  and  in  thy  reason's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear,  whatever  is,  is  right: 

but  having  afterwards  discovered,  or  been  shewn,  that  the  truth 
which  subsisted-  in  spite  of  reason  could  not  be  very  clear,  he  sub- 
stituted 

And  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE 


229 


To  such  oversights  will  the  most  vigorous  mind  be  liable,  when 
it  is  employed  at  once  upon  argument  and  poetry. 

The  second  and  third  Epistles  were  published ;  and  Pope  was, 
I  believe,  more  and  more  suspected  of  writing  them;  at  last,  in 
1734,  he  avowed  the  fourth,  and  claimed  the  honour  of  a  moral 
poet. 

In  the  conclusion  it  is  sufficiently  acknowledged,  that  the 
doctrine  of  the  Essay  on  Man  was  received  from  Bolingbroke, 
who  is  said  to  have  ridiculed  Pope,  among  those  who  enjoyed  his 
confidence,  as  having  adopted  and  advanced  principles  of  which 
he  did  not  perceive  the  consequence,  and  as  blindly  propagating 
opinions  contrary  to  his  own.  That  those  communications  had 
been  consolidated  into  a  scheme  regularly  drawn,  and  delivered  to 
Pope,  from  whom  it  returned  only  transformed  from  prose  to 
verse,  has  been  reported,  but  hardly  can  be  true.  The  Essay 
plainly  appears  the  fabrick  of  a  poet :  what  Bolingbroke  supplied 
could  be  only  the  first  principles;  the  order,  illustration,  and 
embellishments  must  all  be  Pope's. 

These  principles  it  is  not  my  business  to  clear  from  obscurity, 
dogmatism,  or  falsehood ;  but  they  were  not  immediately  examined ; 
philosophy  and  poetry  have  not  often  the  same  readers ;  and  the 
Essay  abounded  in  splendid  amplifications  and  sparkling  sen- 
tences, which  were  read  and  admired,  with  no  great  attention  to 
their  ultimate  purpose ;  its  flowers  caught  the  eye,  which  did  not 
see  what  the  gay  foliage  concealed,  and  for  a  time  flourished  in  the 
sunshine  of  universal  approbation.  So  little  was  any  evil  tendency 
discovered,  that,  as  innocence  is  unsuspicious,  many  read  it  for 
a  manual  of  piety. 

Its  reputation  soon  invited  a  translator.  It  was  first  turned  into 
French  prose,  and  afterwards  by  Resnel  into  verse.  Both  trans- 
lations fell  into  the  hands  of  Crousaz,  who  first,  when  he  had  the 
version  in  prose,  wrote  a  general  censure,  and  afterwards  reprinted 
ResnePs  version,  with  particular  remarks  upon  every  paragraph. 

Crousaz  was  a  professor  of  Switzerland,  eminent  for  his  treatise 
of  Logick,  and  his  Examen  de  Pyrrhonisme,  and,  however  little 
known  or  regarded  here,  was  no  mean  antagonist.  His  mind  was 
one  of  those  in  which  philosophy  and  piety  are  happily  united. 
He  was  accustomed  to  argument  and  disquisition,  and  perhaps 


230  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

was  grown  too  desirous  of  detecting  faults ;  but  his  intentions  were 
always  right,  his  opinions  were  solid,  and  his  religion  pure. 

His  incessant  vigilance  for  the  promotion  of  piety  disposed  him 
to  look  with  distrust  upon  all  metaphysical  systems  of  Theology, 
and  all  schemes  of  virtue  and  happiness  purely  rational:  and 
therefore  it  was  not  long  before  he  was  persuaded  that  the  posi- 
tions of  Pope,  as  they  terminated  for  the  most  part  in  natural 
religion,  were  intended  to  draw  mankind  away  from  revelation, 
and  to  represent  the  whole  course  of  things  as  a  necessary  con- 
catenation of  indissoluble  fatality;  and  it  is  undeniable,  that  in 
many  passages  a  religious  eye  may  easily  discover  expressions  not 
very  favourable  to  morals,  or  to  liberty. 

About  this  time  Warburton  began  to  make  his  appearance  in 
the  first  ranks  of  learning.  He  was  a  man  of  vigorous  faculties, 
a  mind  fervid  and  vehement,  supplied  by  incessant  and  unlimited 
enquiry,  with  wonderful  extent  and  variety  of  knowledge,  which 
yet  had  not  oppressed  his  imagination,  nor  clouded  his  perspicacity. 
To  every  work  he  brought  a  memory  full  fraught,  together  with 
a  fancy  fertile  of  original  combinations,  and  at  once  exerted  the 
powers  of  the  scholar,  the  reasoner,  and  the  wit.  But  his  know- 
ledge was  too  multifarious  to  be  always  exact,  and  his  pursuits 
were  too  eager  to  be  always  cautious.  His  abilities  gave  him  an 
haughty  confidence,  which  he  disdained  to  conceal  or  mollify; 
and  his  impatience  of  opposition  disposed  him  to  treat  his  ad- 
versaries with  such  contemptuous  superiority  as  made  his  readers 
commonly  his  enemies,  and  excited  against  the  advocate  the  wishes 
of  some  who  favoured  the  cause.  He  seems  to  have  adopted  the 
Roman  Emperor's  determination,  oderint  dum  metuant;  he  used 
no  allurements  of  gentle  language,  but  wished  to  compel  rather 
than  persuade. 

His  style  is  copious  without  selection,  and  forcible  without 
neatness ;  he  took  the  words  that  presented  themselves :  his  diction 
is  coarse  and  impure,  and  his  sentences  are  unmeasured. 

He  had,  in  the  early  part  of  his  life,  pleased  himself  with  the 
notice  of  inferior  wits,  and  corresponded  with  the  enemies  of  Pope. 
A  Letter  was  produced,  when  he  had  perhaps  himself  forgotten  it, 
in  which  he  tells  Concanen,  '  Dryden  I  observe  borrows  for  want 
of  leisure,  and  Pope  for  want  of  genius:  Milton  out  of  pride,  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE 


231 


Addison  out  of  modesty.'  And  when  Theobald  published  Shake- 
speare, in  opposition  to  Pope,  the  best  notes  were  supplied  by 
Warburton. 

But  the  time  was  now  come  when  Warburton  was  to  change 
his  opinion,  and  Pope  was  to  find  a  defender  in  him  who  had  con- 
tributed so  much  to  the  exaltation  of  his  rival. 

The  arrogance  of  Warburton  excited  against  him  every  artifice 
of  offence,  and  therefore  it  may  be  supposed  that  his  union  with 
Pope  was  censured  as  hypocritical  inconstancy;  but  surely  to 
think  differently,  at  different  times,  of  poetical  merit,  may  be  easily 
allowed.  Such  opinions  are  often  admitted,  and  dismissed,  with- 
out nice  examination.  Who  is  there  that  has  not  found  reason 
for  changing  his  mind  about  questions  of  greater  importance  ? 

Warburton,  whatever  was  his  motive,  undertook,  without  solici- 
tation, to  rescue  Pope  from  the  talons  of  Crousaz,  by  freeing  him 
from  the  imputation  of  favouring  fatality,  or  rejecting  revelation ; 
and  from  month  to  month  continued  a  vindication  of  the  Essay 
on  Man,  in  the  literary  journal  of  that  time  called  The  Republick 
of  Letters. 

Pope,  who  probably  began  to  doubt  the  tendency  of  his  own 
work,  was  glad  that  the  positions,  of  which  he  perceived  himself 
not  to  know  the  full  meaning,  could  by  any  mode  of  interpretation 
be  made  to  mean  well.  How  much  he  was  pleased  with  his  gra- 
tuitous defender,  the  following  Letter  evidently  shews : 

'April  n,  1739. 
'SiR, 

'I  have  just  received  from  Mr.  R.  two  more  of  your  Letters. 
It  is  in  the  greatest  hurry  imaginable  that  I  write  this ;  but  I  can- 
not help  thanking  you  in  particular  for  your  third  Letter,  which  is 
so  extremely  clear,  short,  and  full,  that  I  think  Mr.  Crousaz  ought 
never  to  have  another  answerer,  and  deserved  not  so  good  an  one. 
I  can  only  say,  you  do  him  too  much  honour,  and  me  too  much 
right,  so  odd  as  the  expression  seems;  for  you  have  made  my 
system  as  clear  as  I  ought  to  have  done,  and  could  not.  It  is  indeed 
the  same  system  as  mine,  but  illustrated  with  a  ray  of  your  own, 
as  they  say  our  natural  body  is  the  same  still  when  it  is  glorified. 
I  am  sure  I  like  it  better  than  I  did  before,  and  so  will  every  man 


232  SAM UEL  .  JOHNSON 

else.  I  know  I  meant  just  what  you  explain ;  but  I  did  not  explain 
my  own  meaning  so  well  as  you.  You  understand  me  as  well  as  I 
do  myself ;  but  you  express  me  better  than  I  could  express  myself. 
Pray  accept  the  sincerest  acknowledgements.  I  cannot  but  wish 
these  Letters  were  put  together  in  one  Book,  and  intend  (with  your 
leave)  to  procure  a  translation  of  part,  at  least,  of  all  of  them  into 
French ;  but  I  shall  not  proceed  a  step  without  your  consent  and 
opinion,  &c.' 

By  this  fond  and  eager  acceptance  of  an  exculpatory  comment, 
Pope  testified  that,  whatever  might  be  the  seeming  or  real  import 
of  the  principles  which  he  had  received  from  Bolingbroke,  he  had 
not  intentionally  attacked  religion;  and  Bolingbroke,  if  he  meant 
to  make  him  without  his  own  consent  an  instrument  of  mischief, 
found  him  now  engaged  with  his  eyes  open  on  the  side  of  truth. 

It  is  known  that  Bolingbroke  concealed  from  Pope  his  real 
opinions.  He  once  discovered  them  to  Mr.  Hooke,  who  related 
them  again  to  Pope,  and  was  told  by  him  that  he  must  have  mis- 
taken the  meaning  of  what  he  heard;  and  Bolingbroke,  when 
Pope's  uneasiness  incited  him  to  desire  an  explanation,  declared 
that  Hooke  had  misunderstood  him. 

Bolingbroke  hated  Warburton,  who  had  drawn  his  pupil  from 
him;  and  a  little  before  Pope's  death  they  had  a  dispute,  from 
which  they  parted  with  mutual  aversion. 

From  this  time  Pope  lived  in  the  closest  intimacy  with  his  com- 
mentator, and  amply  rewarded  his  kindness  and  his  zeal;  for  he 
introduced  him  to  Mr.  Murray,  by  whose  interest  he  became 
preacher  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  to  Mr.  Allen,  who  gave  him  his 
niece  and  his  estate,  and  by  consequence  a  bishoprick.  When 
he  died,  he  left  him  the  property  of  his  works ;  a  legacy  which  may 
be  reasonably  estimated  at  four  thousand  pounds. 

Pope's  fondness  for  the  Essay  on  Man  appeared  by  his  desire 
of  its  propagation.  Dobson,  who  had  gained  reputation  by  his 
version  of  Prior's  Solomon,  was  employed  by  him  to  translate  it 
into  Latin  verse,  and  was  for  that  purpose  some  time  at  Twicken- 
ham; but  he  left  his  work,  whatever  was  the  reason,  unfinished; 
and,  by  Benson's  invitation,  undertook  the  longer  task  of  Paradise 
Lost.  Pope  then  desired  his  friend  to  find  a  scholar  who  should 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  233 

turn  his  Essay  into  Latin  prose ;  but  no  such  performance  has  ever 
appeared. 

Pope  lived  at  this  time  among  the  Great,  with  that  reception 
and  respect  to  which  his  works  entitled  him,  and  which  he  had 
not  impaired  by  any  private  misconduct  or  factitious  partiality. 
Though  Bolingbroke  was  his  friend,  Walpole  was  not  his  enemy; 
but  treated  him  with  so  much  consideration  as,  at  his  request,  to 
solicit  and  obtain  from  the  French  Minister  an  abbey  for  Mr. 
Southcot,  whom  he  considered  himself  as  obliged  to  reward,  by 
this  exertion  of  his  interest,  for  the  benefit  which  he  had  received 
from  his  attendance  in  a  long  illness. 

It  was  said,  that,  when  the  Court  was  at  Richmond,  Queen 
Caroline  had  declared  her  intention  to  visit  him.  This  may  have 
been  only  a  careless  effusion,  thought  on  no  more :  the  report  of 
such  notice,  however,  was  soon  in  many  mouths;  and  if  I  do  not 
forget  or  misapprehend  Savage's  account,  Pope,  pretending  to  decline 
what  was  not  yet  offered,  left  his  house  for  a  time,  not,  I  suppose, 
for  any  other  reason  than  lest  he  should  be  thought  to  stay  at  home 
in  expectation  of  an  honour  which  would  not  be  conferred.  He 
was  therefore  angry  at  Swift,  who  represents  him  as  refusing  the 
visits  of  a  Queen,  because  he  knew  that  what  had  never  been 
offered,  had  never  been  refused. 

Beside  the  general  system  of  morality  supposed  to  be  con- 
tained in  the  Essay  on  Man,  it  was  his  intention  to  write  distinct 
poems  upon  the  different  duties  or  conditions  of  life ;  one  of  which 
is  the  Epistle  to  Lord  Bathurst  (1733)  on  the  Use  of  Riches,  a  piece 
on  which  he  declared  great  labour  to  have  been  bestowed. 

Into  this  poem  some  incidents  are  historically  thrown,  and  some 
known  characters  are  introduced,  with  others  of  which  it  is  difficult 
to  say  how  far  they  are  real  or  fictitious ;  but  the  praise  of  Kyrl, 
the  Man  of  Ross,  deserves  particular  examination,  who,  after  a 
long  and  pompous  enumeration  of  his  publick  works  and  private 
charities,  is  said  to  have  diffused  all  those  blessings  from  five 
hundred  a  year.  Wonders  are  willingly  told,  and  willingly  heard. 
The  truth  is,  that  Kyrl  was  a  man  of  known  integrity,  and  active 
benevolence,  by  whose  solicitation  the  wealthy  were  persuaded  to 
pay  contributions  to  his  charitable  schemes;  this  influence  he 
obtained  by  an  example  of  liberality  exerted  to  the  utmost  extent 


234  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

of  his  power,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  give  more  than  he  had. 
This  account  Mr.  Victor  received  from  the  minister  of  the  place, 
and  I  have  preserved  it,  that  the  praise  of  a  good  man  being  made 
more  credible,  may  be  more  solid.  Narrations  of  romantick  and 
impracticable  virtue  will  be  read  with  wonder,  but  that  which  is 
unattainable  is  recommended  in  vain;  that  good  may  be  en- 
deavoured, it  must  be  shewn  to  be  possible. 

This  is  the  only  piece  in  which  the  author  has  given  a  hint  of 
his  religion,  by  ridiculing  the  ceremony  of  burning  the  pope,  and 
by  mentioning  with  some  indignation  the  inscription  on  the  Monu- 
ment. 

When  this  poem  was  first  published,  the  dialogue,  having  no 
letters  of  direction,  was  perplexed  and  obscure.  Pope  seems  to 
have  written  with  no  very  distinct  idea ;  for  he  calls  that  an  Epistle 
to  Bathurst,  in  which  Bathurst  is  introduced  as  speaking. 

He  afterwards  (1734)  inscribed  to  Lord  Cobham  his  Characters 
of  Men,  written  with  close  attention  to  the  operations  of  the  mind 
and  modifications  of  life.  In  this  poem  he  has  endeavoured  to 
establish  and  exemplify  his  favourite  theory  of  the  ruling  Passion, 
by  which  he  means  an  original  direction  of  desire  to  some  particular 
object,  an  innate  affection  which  gives  all  action  a  determinate 
and  invariable  tendency,  and  operates  upon  the  whole  system  of 
life,  either  openly,  or  more  secretly  by  the  intervention  of  some 
accidental  or  subordinate  propension. 

Of  any  passion,  thus  innate  and  irresistible,  the  existence  may 
reasonably  be  doubted.  Human  characters  are  by  no  means 
constant ;  men  change  by  change  of  place,  of  fortune,  of  acquaint- 
ance; he  who  is  at  one  time  a  lover  of  pleasure,  is  at  another  a 
lover  of  money.  Those  indeed  who  attain  any  excellence,  com- 
monly spend  life  in  one  pursuit ;  for  excellence  is  not  often  gained 
upon  easier  terms.  But  to  the  particular  species  of  excellence 
men  are  directed,  not  by  an  ascendant  planet  or  predominating 
humour,  but  by  the  first  book  which  they  read,  some  early  con- 
versation which  they  heard,  or  some  accident  which  excited  ardour 
and  emulation. 

It  must  be  at  least  allowed  that  this  ruling  Passion,  antecedent  to 
reason  and  observation,  must  have  an  object  independent  of  human 
contrivance ;  for  there  can  be  no  natural  desire  of  artificial  good. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  235 

No  man  therefore  can  be  born,  in  the  strict  acceptation,  a  lover 
of  money;  for  he  may  be  born  where  money  does  not  exist;  nor 
can  he  be  born,  in  a  moral  sense,  a  lover  of  his  country;  for  so- 
ciety, politically  regulated,  is  a  state  contradistinguished  from  a 
state  of  nature;  and  any  attention  to  that  coalition  of  interests 
which  makes  the  happiness  of  a  country,  is  possible  only  to  those 
whom  enquiry  and  reflection  have,  enabled  to  comprehend  it. 

This  doctrine  is  in  itself  pernicious  as  well  as  false :  its  tendency 
is  to  produce  the  belief  of  a  kind  of  moral  predestination,  or  over- 
ruling principle  which  cannot  be  resisted;  he  that  admits  it,  is 
prepared  to  comply  with  every  desire  that  caprice  or  opportunity 
shall  excite,  and  to  flatter  himself  that  he  submits  only  to  the 
lawful  dominion  of  Nature,  in  obeying  the  resistless  authority  of 
his  ruling  Passion. 

Pope  has  formed  his  theory  with  so  little  skill,  that,  in  the  ex- 
amples by  which  he  illustrates  and  confirms  it,  he  has  confounded 
passions,  appetites,  and  habits. 

To  the  Characters  of  Men  he  added  soon  after,  in  an  Epistle 
supposed  to  have  been  addressed  to  Martha  Blount,  but  which 
the  last  edition  has  taken  from  her,  the  Characters  of  Women. 
This  poem,  which  was  laboured  with  great  diligence,  and  in  the 
author's  opinion  with  great  success,  was  neglected  at  its  first 
publication,  as  the  commentator  supposes,  because  the  publick 
was  informed  by  an  advertisement,  that  it  contained  no  Charac- 
ter drawn  from  the  Life;  an  assertion  which  Pope  probably  did 
not  expect  or  wish  to  have  been  believed,  and  which  he  soon  gave 
his  readers  sufficient  reason  to  distrust,  by  telling  them  in  a  note, 
that  the  work  was  imperfect,  because  part  of  his  subject  was 
Vice  too  high  to  be  yet  exposed. 

The  time,  however,  soon  come,  in  which  it  was  safe  to  display 
the  Dutchess  of  Marlborough  under  the  name  of  Atossa;  and 
her  character  was  inserted  with  no  great  honour  to  the  writer's 
gratitude. 

He  published  from  time  to  time  (between  1730  and  1740)  Imi- 
tations of  different  poems  of  Horace,  generally  with  his  name, 
and  once,  as  was  suspected,  without  it.  What  he  was  upon  moral 
principles  ashamed  to  own,  he  ought  to  have  suppressed.  Of 
these  pieces  it  is  useless  to  settle  the  dates,  as  they  had  seldom 


236  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

much  relation  to  the  times,  and  perhaps  had  been  long  in  his 
hands. 

This  mode  of  imitation,  in  which  the  ancients  are  familiarised, 
by  adapting  their  sentiments  to  modern  topicks,  by  making  Hor- 
ace say  of  Shakespeare  what  he  originally  said  of  Ennius,  and 
accommodating  his  satires  on  Pantolabus  and  Nomentanus  to  the 
flatterers  and  prodigals  of  our  own  time,  was -first -practised  in 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second  by  Oldhanrriarid>rtochester,  at 
least  I  remember  no  instances  more  ancient.  It  is  a  kind  of 
middle  composition  between  translation  and  original  design, 
which  pleases  when  the  thoughts  are  unexpectedly  applicable, 
and  the  parallels  lucky.  It  seems  to  have  been  Pope's  favourite 
amusement;  for  he  has  carried  it  further  than  any  former  poet. 

He  published  likewise  a  revival,  in  smoother  numbers,  of 
Dr.  Donne's  Satires,  which  was  recommended  to  him  by  the 
Duke  of  Shrewsbury  and  the  Earl  of  Oxford.  They  made  no 
great  impression  on  the  publick.  Pope  seems  to  have  known 
their  imbecility,  and  therefore  suppressed  them  while  he  was  yet 
contending  to  rise  in  reputation,  but  ventured  them  when  he 
thought  their  deficiencies  more  likely  to  be  imputed  to  Donne 
than  to  himself. 

The  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  which  seems  to  be  derived  in 
its  first  design  from  Boileau's  Address  a  son  Esprit,  was  pub- 
lished in  January,  1735,  about  a  month  before  the  death  of  him  to 
whom  it  is  inscribed.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  either  honour 
or  pleasure  should  have  been  missed  by  Arbuthnot;  a  man 
estimable  for  his  learning,  amiable  for  his  life,  and  venerable 
for  his  piety. 

Arbuthnot  was  a  man  of  great  comprehension,  skilful  in  his 
profession,  versed  in  the  sciences,  acquainted  with  ancient  litera- 
ture, and  able  to  animate  his  mass  of  knowledge  by  a  bright  and 
active  imagination;  a  scholar  with  great  brilliancy  of  wit;  a  wit, 
who,  in  the  crowd  of  life,  retained  and  discovered  a  noble  ardour 
of  religious  zeal. 

In  this  poem  Pope  seems  to  reckon  with  the  publick.  He 
vindicates  himself  from  censures;  and  with  dignity,  rather  than 
arrogance,  enforces  his  own  claims  to  kindness  and  respect. 

Into  this  poem  are  interwoven  several  paragraphs  which  had 


THE  LIFE   OF   POPE  237 

been  before  printed  as  a  fragment,  and  among  them  the  satirical 
lines  upon  Addison,  of  which  the  last  couplet  has  been  twice 
corrected.  It  was  at  first, 

Who  would  not  smile  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  laugh  if  Addison  were  he? 

Then, 

Who  would  not  grieve  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  laugh  if  Addison  were  he? 

At  last  it  is, 

Who  but  must  laugh  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  weep  if  Atticus  were  he? 

He  was  at  this  time  at  open  war  with  Lord  Hervey,  who  had 
distinguished  himself  as  a  steady  adherent  to  the  Ministry;  and, 
being  offended  with  a  contemptuous  answer  to  one  of  his  pam- 
phlets, had  summoned  Pulteney  to  a  duel.  Whether  he  or 
Pope  made  the  first  attack,  perhaps  cannot  now  be  easily  known: 
he  had  written  an  invective  against  Pope,  whom  he  calls,  Hard 
as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure;  and  hints  that  his  father 
was  a  hatter.  To  this  Pope  wrote  a  reply  in  verse  and  prose: 
the  verses  are  in  this  poem;  and  the  prose,  though  it  was  never 
sent,  is  printed  among  his  Letters,  but  to  a  cool  reader  of  the 
present  time  exhibits  nothing  but  tedious  malignity. 

His  last  satires,  of  the  general  kind,  were  two  Dialogues,  named 
from  the  year  in  which  they  were  published,  Seventeen  Hun- 
dred and  Thirty-eight.  In  these  poems  many  are  praised  and 
many  are  reproached.  Pope  was  then  entangled  in  the  opposi- 
tion ;  a  follower  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who  dined  at  his  house, 
and  the  friend  of  many  who  obstructed  and  censured  the  conduct 
of  the  Ministers.  His  political  partiality  was  too  plainly  shewn ; 
he  forgot  the  prudence  with  which  he  passed,  in  his  earlier  years, 
uninjured  and  unoffending  through  much  more  violent  conflicts 
of  faction. 

In  the  first  Dialogue,  having  an  opportunity  of  praising  Allen 
of  Bath,  he  asked  his  leave  to  mention  him  as  a  man  not  illustrious 
by  any  merit  of  his  ancestors,  and  called  -him  in  his  verses  low- 
born Allen.  Men  are  seldom  satisfied  with  praise  introduced 
or  followed  by  any  mention  of  defect.  Allen  seems  not  to  have 


238  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

taken  any  pleasure  in  his  epithet,  which  was  afterwards  soft- 
ened into  humble  Allen. 

In  the  second  Dialogue  he  took  some  liberty  with  one  of  the 
Foxes,  among  others;  which  Fox,  in  a  reply  to  Lyttelton,  took 
an  opportunity  of  repaying,  by  reproaching  him  with  the  friend- 
ship of  a  lampooner,  who  scattered  his  ink  without  fear  or  decency, 
and  against  whom  he  hoped  the  resentment  of  the  Legislature 
would  quickly  be  discharged. 

About  this  time  Paul  Whitehead,  a  small  poet,  was  summoned 
before  the  Lords  for  a  poem  called  Manners,  together  with  Dods- 
ley,  his  publisher.  Whitehead,  who  hung  loose  upon  society, 
sculked  and  escaped;  but  Dodsley's  shop  and  family  made  his 
appearance  necessary.  He  was,  however,  soon  dismissed;  and 
the  whole  process  was  probably  intended  rather  to  intimidate 
Pope  than  to  punish  Whitehead. 

Pope  never  afterwards  attempted  to  join  the  patriot  with  the 
poet,  nor  drew  his  pen  upon  statesmen.  That  he  desisted  from 
his  attempts  of  reformation  is  imputed,  by  his  commentator, 
to  his  despair  of  prevailing  over  the  corruption  of  the  time.  He 
was  not  likely  to  have  been  ever  of  opinion  that  the  dread  of  his 
satire  would  countervail  the  love  of  power  or  of  money ;  he  pleased 
himself  with  being  important  and  formidable,  and  gratified 
sometimes  his  pride,  and  sometimes  his  resentment;  till  at  last 
be  began  to  think  he  should  be  more  safe,  if  he  were  less 
busy. 

The  Memoirs  of  Scriblerus,  published  about  this  time,  extend 
only  to  the  first  book  of  a  work  projected  in  concert  by  Pope, 
Swift,  and  Arbuthnot,  who  used  to  meet  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Anne,  and  denominated  themselves  the  Scriblerus  Club.  Their 
purpose  was  to  censure  the  abuses  of  learning  by  a  fictitious 
Life  of  an  infatuated  Scholar.  They  were  dispersed;  the  design 
was  never  completed;  and  Warburton  laments  its  miscarriage, 
as  an  event  very  disastrous  to  polite  letters. 

If  the  whole  may  be  estimated  by  this  specimen,  which  seems 
to  be  the  production  of  Arbuthnot,  with  a  few  touches  perhaps 
by  Pope,  the  want  of  more  will  not  be  much  lamented;  for  the 
follies  which  the  writer  ridicules  are  so  little  practised,  that  they 
are  not  known;  nor  can  the  satire  be  understood  but  by  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  239 

learned:   he  raises  phantoms  of  absurdity,  and  then  drives  them 
away.     He  cures  diseases  that  were  never  felt. 

For  this  reason  this  joint  production  of  three  great  writers 
has  never  obtained  any  notice  from  mankind;  it  has  been  little 
read,  or  when  read  has  been  forgotten,  as  no  man  could  be  wiser, 
better,  or  merrier,  by  remembering  it. 

The  design  cannot  boast  of  much  originality;  for,  besides 
its  general  resemblance  to  Don  Quixote,  there  will  be  found  in 
it  particular  imitations  of  the  History  of  Mr.  Duffle. 

Swift  carried  so  much  of  it  into  Ireland  as  supplied  him  with 
hints  for  his  Travels;  and  with  those  the  world  might  have  been 
contented,  though  the  rest  had  been  suppressed. 

Pope  had  sought  for  images  and  sentiments  in  a  region  not 
known  to  have  been  explored  by  many  other  of  the  English 
writers;  he  had  consulted  the  modern  writers  of  Latin  poetry, 
a  class  of  authors  whom  Boileau  endeavored  to  bring  into  con- 
tempt, and  who  are  too  generally  neglected.  Pope,  however, 
was  not  ashamed  of  their  acquaintance,  nor  ungrateful  for  the 
advantages  which  he  might  have  derived  from  it.  A  small  selec- 
tion from  the  Italians  who  wrote  in  Latin  had  been  published 
at  London,  about  the  latter  end  of  the  last  century,  by  a  man 
who  concealed  his  name,  but  whom  his  Preface  shews  to  have 
been  well  qualified  for  his  undertaking.  This  collection  Pope 
amplified  by  more  than  half,  and  (1740)  published  it  in  two 
volumes,  but  injuriously  omitted  his  predecessor's  preface.  To 
these  books,  which  had  nothing  but  the  mere  text,  no  regard  was 
paid,  the  authors  were  still  neglected,  and  the  editor  was  neither 
praised  nor  censured. 

He  did  not  sink  into  idleness;  he  had  planned  a  work,  which 
he  considered  as  subsequent  to  his  Essay  on  Man,  of  which  he 
has  given  this  account  to  Dr.  Swift. 

'March  25,  1736. 

'If  ever  I  write  any  more  Epistles  in  verse,  one  of  them  shall 
be  addressed  to  you.  I  have  long  concerted  it,  and  begun  it; 
but  I  would  make  what  bears  your  name  as  finished  as  my  last 
work  ought  to  be,  that  is  to  say,  more  finished  than  any  of  the 
rest.  The  subject  is  large,  and  will  divide  into  four  Epistles, 
which  naturally  follow  the  Essay  on  Man,  viz.  i.  Of  the  Ex- 


240  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

tent  and  Limits  of  Human  Reason  and  Science.  2.  A  View  of 
the  useful  and  therefore  attainable,  and  of  the  unuseful  and 
therefore  unattainable,  Arts.  3.  Of  the  Nature,  Ends,  Applica- 
tion, and  Use  of  different  Capacities.  4.  Of  the  Use  of  Learn- 
ing, of  the  Science,  of  the  World,  and  of  Wit.  It  will  conclude 
with  a  satire  against  the  Misapplication  of  all  these,  exemplified 
by  Pictures,  Characters,  and  Examples.' 

This  work  in  its  full  extent,  being  now  afflicted  with  an  asthma 
and  finding  the  powers  of  life  gradually  declining,  he  had  no 
longer  courage  to  undertake ;  but,  from  the  materials  which  he 
had  provided,  he  added,  at  Warburton's  request,  another  book 
to  the  Dunciad,  of  which  the  design  is  to  ridicule  such  studies 
as  are  either  hopeless  or  useless,  as  either  pursue  what  is  un- 
attainable, or  what,  if  it  be  attained,  is  of  no  use. 

When  this  book  was  printed  (1742)  the  laurel  had  been  for 
some  time  upon  the  head  of  Gibber;  a  man  whom  it  cannot  be 
supposed  that  Pope  could  regard  with  much  kindness  or  esteem, 
though  in  one  of  the  Imitations  of  Horace  he  has  liberally  enough 
praised  the  Careless  Husband.  In  the  Dunciad,  among  other 
worthless  scribblers,  he  had  mentioned  Gibber;  who,  in  his 
Apology,  complains  of  the  great  poet's  unkindness  as  more  in- 
jurious, because,  says  he,  I  never  have  offended  him. 

It  might  have  been  expected  that  Pope  should  have  been,  in 
some  degree,  mollified  by  this  submissive  gentleness;  but  no 
such  consequence  appeared.  Though  he  condescended  to  com- 
mend Gibber  once,  he  mentioned  him  afterwards  contemptu- 
ously in  one  of  his  Satires,  and  again  in  his  Epistle  to  Arbuthnot ; 
and  in  the  fourth  book  of  the  Dunciad  attacked  him  with  acri- 
mony, to  which  the  provocation  is  not  easily  discoverable.  Perhaps 
he  imagined  that,  in  ridiculing  the  Laureat,  he  satirised  those 
by  whom  the  laurel  had  been  given,  and  gratified  that  ambitious 
petulance  with  which  he  affected  to  insult  the  great. 

The  severity  of  this  satire  left  Gibber  no  longer  any  patience. 
He  had  confidence  enough  in  his  own  powers  to  believe  that  he 
could  disturb  the  quiet  of  his  adversary,  and  doubtless  did  not 
want  instigators,  who,  without  any  care  about  the  victory,  de- 
sired to  amuse  themselves  by  looking  on  the  contest.  He  there- 
fore gave  the  town  a  pamphlet,  in  which  he  declares  his  resolution 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  241 

from  that  time  never  to  bear  another  blow  without  returning  it, 
and  to  tire  out  his  adversary  by  perseverance,  if  he  cannot  conquer 
him  by  strength. 

The  incessant  and  unappeasable  malignity  of  Pope  he  imputes 
to  a  very  distant  cause.  After  the  Three  Hours  after  Marriage 
had  been  driven  off  the  stage,  by  the  offence  which  the  mummy 
and  crocodile  gave  the  audience,  while  the  exploded  scene  was 
yet  fresh  in  memory,  it  happened  that  Gibber  played  Bayes 
in  the  Rehearsal;  and,  as  it  had  been  usual  to  enliven  the  part 
by  the  mention  of  any  recent  theatrical  transactions,  he  said,  that 
he  once  thought  to  have  introduced  his  lovers  disguised  in  a 
Mummy  and  a  Crocodile.  'This,'  says  he,  'was  received  with 
loud  claps,  which  indicated  contempt  of  the  play.'  Pope,  who 
was  behind  the  scenes,  meeting  him  as  he  left  the  stage,  attacked 
him,  as  he  says,  with  all  the  virulence  of  a  Wit  out  of  his  senses ; 
to  which  he  replied,  *  that  he  would  take  no  other  notice 
of  what  was  said  by  so  particular  a  man  than  to  declare, 
that,  as  often  as  he  played  that  part,  he  would  repeat  the 
same  provocation.' 

He  shews  his  opinion  to  be,  that  Pope  was  one  of  the  authors 
of  the  play  which  he  so  zealously  defended;  and  adds  an  idle 
story  of  Pope's  behaviour  at  a  tavern. 

The  pamphlet  was  written  with  little  power  of  thought  or  lan- 
guage, and,  if  suffered  to  remain  without  notice,  would  have 
been  very  soon  forgotten.  Pope  had  now  been  enough  acquainted 
with  human  life  to  know,  if  his  passion  had  not  been  too  powerful 
for  his  understanding,  that,  from  a  contention  like  his  with  Gibber, 
the  world  seeks  nothing  but  diversion,  which  is  given  at  the 
expence  of  the  higher  character.  When  Gibber  lampooned  Pope, 
curiosity  was  excited;  what  Pope  would  say  of  Gibber  nobody 
enquired,  but  in  hope  that  Pope's  asperity  might  betray  his  pain 
and  lessen  his  dignity. 

He  should  therefore  have  suffered  the  pamphlet  to  flutter  and 
die,  without  confessing  that  it  stung  him.  The  dishonour  of 
being  shewn  as  Gibber's  antagonist  could  never  be  compensated 
by  the  victory.  Gibber  had  nothing  to  lose;  when  Pope  had 
exhausted  all  his  malignity  upon  him,  he  would  rise  in  the  esteem 
both  of  his  friends  and  his  enemies.  Silence  only  could  have 


242  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

made  him  despicable ;  the  blow  which  did  not  appear  to  be  felt 
would  have  been  struck  in  vain. 

But  Pope's  irascibility  prevailed,  and  he  resolved  to  tell  the 
whole  English  world  that  he  was  at  war  with  Gibber;  and  to 
shew  that  he  thought  him  no  common  adversary,  he  prepared 
no  common  vengeance;  he  published  a  new  addition  of  the 
Dunciad,  in  which  he  degraded  Theobald  from  his  painful  pre- 
eminence, and  enthroned  Gibber  in  his  stead.  Unhappily  the 
two  heroes  were  of  opposite  characters,  and  Pope  was  unwill- 
ing to  lose  what  he  had  already  written ;  he  has  therefore  depraved 
his  poem  by  giving  to  Gibber  the  old  books,  the  cold  pedantry, 
and  sluggish  pertinacity  of  Theobald. 

Pope  was  ignorant  enough  of  his  own  interest,  to  make  another 
change,  and  introduced  Osborne  contending  for  the  prize  among 
the  booksellers.  Osborne  was  a  man  entirely  destitute  of  «hame, 
without  sense  of  any  disgrace  but  that  of  poverty.  He  told  me, 
when  he  was  doing  that  which  raised  Pope's  resentment,  that  he 
should  be  put  into  the  Dunciad;  but  he  had  the  fate  of  Cassandra. 
I  gave  no  credit  to  his  prediction,  till  in  time  I  saw  it  accomplished. 
The  shafts  of  satire  were  directed  equally  in  vain  against  Gibber  and 
Osborne;  being  repelled  by  the  impenetrable  impudence  of  one, 
and  deadened  by  the  impassive  dulness  of  the  other.  Pope 
confessed  his  own  pain  by  his  anger;  but  he  gave  no  pain  to  those 
who  had  provoked  him.  He  was  able  to  hurt  none  but  himself; 
by  transferring  the  same  ridicule  from  one  to  another,  he  destroyed 
its  efficacy;  for,  by  shewing  that  what  he  had  said  of  one  he  was 
ready  to  say  of  another,  he  reduced  himself  to  the  insignificance  of 
his  own  magpye,  who  from  his  cage  calls  cuckold  at  a  venture. 

Gibber,  according  to  his  engagement,  repaid  the  Dunciad  with 
another  pamphlet,  which,  Pope  said,  would  be  as  good  as  a  dose 
of  hartshorn  to  him;  but  his  tongue  and  his  heart  were  at  variance. 
I  have  heard  Mr.  Richardson  relate,  that  he  attended  his  father 
the  painter  on  a  visit,  when  one  of  Gibber's  pamphlets  came  into 
the  hands  of  Pope,  who  said,  These  things  are  my  diversion.  They 
sat  by  him  while  he  perused  it,  and  saw  his  features  writhen  with 
anguish;  and  young  Richardson  said  to  his  father,  when  they 
returned,  that  he  hoped  to  be  preserved  from  such  diversion  as  had 
been  that  day  the  lot  of  Pope. 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE 


243 


From  this  time,  finding  his  diseases  more  oppressive,  and 
his  vital  powers  gradually  declining,  he  no  longer  strained  his 
faculties  with  any  original  composition,  nor  proposed  any  other 
employment  for  his  remaining  life  than  the  revisal  and  correction 
of  his  former  works;  in  which  he  received  advice  and  assistance 
from  Warburton,  whom  he  appears  to  have  trusted  and  honoured 
in  the  highest  degree. 

He  laid  aside  his  Epick  Poem,  perhaps  without  much  loss  to 
mankind ;  for  his  hero  was  Brutus  the  Trojan,  who,  according  to  a 
ridiculous  fiction,  established  a  colony  in  Britain.  The  subject 
therefore  was  of  the  fabulous  age;  the  actors  were  a  race  upon 
whom  imagination  has  been  exhausted,  and  attention  wearied, 
and  to  whom  the  mind  will  not  easily  be  recalled,  when  it  is  invited 
in  blank  verse,  which  Pope  had  adopted  with  great  imprudence, 
and,  I  think,  without  due  consideration  of  the  nature  of  our 
language.  The  sketch  is,  at  least  in  part,  preserved  by  Ruffhead ; 
by  which  it  appears,  that  Pope  was  thoughtless  enough  to  model 
the  names  of  his  heroes  with  terminations  not  consistent  with 
the  time  or  country  in  which  he  places  them. 

He  lingered  through  the  next  year;  but  perceived  himself, 
as  he  expresses  it,  going  down  the  hill.  He  had  for  at  least  five 
years  been  afflicted  with  an  asthma,  and  other  disorders,  which  his 
physicians  were  unable  to  relieve.  Towards  the  end  of  his  life 
he  consulted  Dr.  Thomson,  a  man  who  had,  by  large  promises, 
and  free  censures  of  the  common  practice  of  physick,  forced 
himself  up  into  sudden  reputation.  Thomson  declared  his  dis- 
temper to  be  a  dropsy,  and  evacuated  part  of  the  water  by  tincture 
of  jalap;  but  confessed  that  his  belly  did  not  subside.  Thomson 
had  many  enemies,  and  Pope  was  persuaded  to  dismiss  him. 

While  he  was  yet  capable  of  amusement  and  conversation,  as 
he  was  one  day  sitting  in  the  air  with  Lord  Bolingbroke  and  Lord 
Marchmont,  he  saw  his  favourite  Martha  Blount  at  the  bottom 
of  the  terrace,  and  asked  Lord  Bolingbroke  to  go  and  hand  her  up. 
Bolingbroke,  not  liking  his  errand,  crossed  his  legs,  and  sat  still; 
but  Lord  Marchmont,  who  was  younger  and  less  captious,  waited 
on  the  Lady;  who,  when  he  came  to  her,  asked,  What,  is  he  not  dead 
yet  ?  She  is  said  to  have  neglected  him,  with  shameful  unkindness, 
in  the  latter  time  of  his  decay;  yet,  of  the  little  which  he  had  to 


244  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

leave,  she  had  a  very  great  part.  Their  acquaintance  began  early ; 
the  life  of  each  was  pictured  on  the  other's  mind ;  their  conversa- 
tion therefore  was  endearing,  for  when  they  met,  there  was  an 
immediate  coalition  of  congenial  notions.  Perhaps  he  considered 
her  unwillingness  to  approach  the  chamber  of  sickness  as  female 
weakness,  or  human  frailty;  perhaps  he  was  conscious  to  himself 
of  peevishness  and  impatience,  or,  though  he  was  offended  by 
her  inattention,  might  yet  consider  her  merit  as  overbalancing  her 
fault;  and,  if  he  had  suffered  his  heart  to  be  alienated  from  her,  he 
could  have  found  nothing  that  might  fill  her  place;  he  could  have 
only  shrunk  within  himself;  it  was  too  late  to  transfer  his  confi- 
dence or  fondness. 

In  May  1 744,  his  death  was  approaching ;  on  the  sixth,  he  was  all 
day  delirious,  which  he  mentioned  four  days  afterwards  as  a  suffi- 
cient humiliation  of  the  vanity  of  man ;  he  afterwards  complained 
of  seeing  things  as  through  a  curtain,  and  in  false  colours;  and  one 
day,  in  the  presence  of  Dodsley,  asked  what  arm  it  was  that  came 
out  from  the  wall.  He  said  that  his  greatest  inconvenience  was 
inability  to  think. 

Bolingbroke  sometimes  wept  over  him  in  this  state  of  helpless 
decay;  and  being  told  by  Spence,  that  Pope,  at  the  intermission 
of  his  deliriousness,  was  always  saying  something  kind  either 
of  his  present  or  absent  friends,  and  that  his  humanity  seemed  to 
have  survived  his  understanding,  answered,  //  has  so.  And  added, 
I  never  in  my  life  knew  a  man  that  had  so  tender  a  heart  for  his 
particular  friends,  or  a  more  general  friendship  for  mankind.  At 
another  time  he  said,  I  have  known  Pope  these  thirty  years,  and 
value  myself  more  in  his  friendship  than  —  his  grief  then  suppressed 
his  voice. 

Pope  expressed  undoubting  confidence  of  a  future  state.  Being 
asked  by  his  friend  Mr.  Hooke,  a  papist,  whether  he  would  not  die 
like  his  father  and  mother,  and  whether  a  priest  should  not  be  called, 
he  answered,  /  do  not  think  it  essential,  but  it  will  be  very  right; 
and  I  thank  you  for  putting  me  in  mind  of  it. 

In  the  morning,  after  the  priest  had  given  him  the  last  sacraments, 
he  said,  There  is  nothing  that  is  meritorious  but  virtue  and  friend- 
ship, and  indeed  friendship  itself  is  only  a  part  of  virtue. 

He  died  in  the  evening  of  the  thirtieth  day  of  May,  1744,  so 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE 


245 


placidly,  that  the  attendants  did  not  discern  the  exact  time  of  his 
expiration.  He  was  buried  at  Twickenham,  near  his  father  and 
mother,  where  a  monument  has  been  erected  to  him  by  his  com- 
mentator, the  Bishop  of  Gloucester. 

He  left  the  care  of  his  papers  to  his  executors,  first  to  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  and  if  he  should  not  be  living,  to  the  Earl  of  Marchmont, 
undoubtedly  expecting  them  to  be  proud  of  the  trust,  and  eager  to 
extend  his  fame.  But  let  no  man  dream  of  influence  beyond  his 
life.  After  a  decent  time  Dodsley  the  bookseller  went  to  solicit 
preference  as  the  publisher,  and  was  told  that  the  parcel  had  not 
been  yet  inspected;  and  whatever  was  the  reason,  the  world  has 
been  disappointed  of  what  was  reserved  for  the  next  age. 

He  lost,  indeed,  the  favour  of  Bolingbroke  by  a  kind  of  post- 
humous offence.  The  political  pamphlet  called  The  Patriot  King 
had  been  put  into  his  hands  that  he  might  procure  the  impression 
of  a  very  few  copies,  to  be  distributed  according  to  the  author's 
direction  among  his  friends,  and  Pope  assured  him  that  no  more 
had  been  printed  than  were  allowed ;  but,  soon  after  his  death,  the 
printer  brought  and  resigned  a  complete  edition  of  fifteen  hundred 
copies,  which  Pope  had  ordered  him  to  print,  and  to  retain  in 
secret.  He  kept,  as  was  observed,  his  engagement  to  Pope  better 
than  Pope  had  kept  it  to  his  friend;  and  nothing  was  known  of 
the  transaction,  till,  upon  the  death  of  his  employer,  he  thought 
himself  obliged  to  deliver  the  books  to  the  right  owner,  who,  with 
great  indignation,  made  a  fire  in  his  yard,  and  delivered  the  whole 
impression  to  the  flames. 

Hitherto  nothing  had  been  done  which  was  not  naturally 
dictated  by  resentment  of  violated  faith;  resentment  more 
acrimonious,  as  the  violator  had  been  more  loved  or  more  trusted. 
But  here  the  anger  might  have  stopped;  the  injury  was  private, 
and  there  was  little  danger  from  the  example. 

Bolingbroke,  however,  was  not  yet  satisfied;  his  thirst  of  ven- 
geance excited  him  to  blast  the  memory  of  the  man  over  whom 
he  had  wept  in  his  last  struggles ;  and  he  employed  Mallet,  another 
friend  of  Pope,  to  tell  the  tale  to  the  publick,  with  all  its  aggrava- 
tions. Warburton,  whose  heart  was  warm  with  his  legacy, 
and  tender  by  the  recent  separation,  thought  it  proper  for  him  to 
interpose;  and  undertook,  not  indeed  to  vindicate  the  action,  for 


246  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

breach  of  trust  has  always  something  criminal,  but  to  extenuate 
it  by  an  apology.  Having  advanced,  what  cannot  be  denied, 
that  moral  obliquity  is  made  more  or  less  excusable  by  the  motives 
that  produce  it,  he  enquires  what  evil  purpose  could  have  induced 
Pope  to  break  his  promise.  He  could  not  delight  his  vanity  by 
usurping  the  work,  which,  though  not  sold  in  shops,  had  been 
shewn  to  a  number  more  than  sufficient  to  preserve  the  author's 
claim;  he  could  not  gratify  his  avarice,  for  he  could  not  sell  his 
plunder  till  Bolingbroke  was  dead;  and  even  then,  if  the  copy 
was  left  to  another,  his  fraud  would  be  defeated,  and  if  left  to  him- 
self, would  be  useless. 

Warburton  therefore  supposes,  with  great  appearance  of  reason, 
that  the  irregularity  of  his  conduct  proceeded  wholly  from  his  zeal 
for  Bolingbroke,  who  might  perhaps  have  destroyed  the  pamphlet, 
which  Pope  thought  it  his  duty  to  preserve,  even  without  its  author's 
approbation.  To  this  apology  an  answer  was  written  in  a  Letter 
to  the  most  impudent  man  living. 

He  brought  some  reproach  upon  his  own  memory  by  the  petulant 
and  contemptuous  mention  made  in  his  will  of  Mr.  Allen,  and  an 
affected  repayment  of  his  benefactions.  Mrs.  Blount,  as  the  known 
friend  and  favourite  of  Pope,  had  been  invited  to  the  house  of 
Allen,  where  she  comported  herself  with  such  indecent  arrogance, 
that  she  parted  from  Mrs.  Allen  in  a  state  of  irreconcilable  dis- 
like, and  the  door  was  for  ever  barred  against  her.  This  exclusion 
she  resented  with  so  much  bitterness  as  to  refuse  any  legacy  from 
Pope,  unless  he  left  the  world  with  a  disavowal  of  obligation  to 
Allen.  Having  been  long  under  her  dominion,  now  tottering  in 
the  decline  of  life,  and  unable  to  resist  the  violence  of  her  temper, 
or,  perhaps  with  the  prejudice  of  a  lover,  persuaded  that  she  had 
suffered  improper  treatment,  he  complied  with  her  demand,  and 
polluted  his  will  with  female  resentment.  Allen  accepted  the 
legacy,  which  he  gave  to  the  Hospital  at  Bath,  observing  that  Pope 
was  always  a  bad  accomptant,  and  that  if  to  150^.  he  had  put  a 
cypher  more,  he  had  come  nearer  to  the  truth. 

The  person  of  Pope  is  well  known  not  to  have  been  formed  by  the 
nicest  model.  He  has,  in  his  account  of  the  Little  Club,  compared 
himself  to  a  spider,  and  by  another  is  described  as  protuberant 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  247 

behind  and  before.  He  is  said  to  have  been  beautiful  in  his 
infancy ;  but  he  was  of  a  constitution  originally  feeble  and  weak ; 
and  as  bodies  of  a  tender  frame  are  easily  distorted,  his  deformity 
was  probably  in  part  the  effect  of  his  application.  His  stature 
was  so  low,  that,  to  bring  him  to  a  level  with  common  tables, 
it  was  necessary  to  raise  his  seat.  But  his  face  was  not  displeasing, 
and  his  eyes  were  animated  and  vivid. 

By  natural  deformity,  or  accidental  distortion,  his  vital  functions 
were  so  much  disordered,  that  his  life  was  a  long  disease.  His 
most  frequent  assailant  was  the  headach,  which  he  used  to  relieve 
by  inhaling  the  steam  of  coffee,  which  he  very  frequently  required. 

Most  of  what  can  be  told  concerning  his  petty  peculiarities  was 
communicated  by  a  female  domestick  of  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  who 
knew  him  perhaps  after  the  middle  of  life.  He  was  then  so  weak 
as  to  stand  in  perpetual  need  of  female  attendance;  extremely 
sensible  of  cold,  so  that  he  wore  a  kind  of  fur  doublet,  under  a  shirt 
of  a  very  coarse  warm  linen  with  fine  sleeves.  When  he  rose,  he 
was  invested  in  bodice  made  of  stiff  canvas,  being  scarce  able  to 
hold  himself  erect  till  they  were  laced,  and  he  then  put  on  a  flannel 
waistcoat.  One  side  was  contracted.  His  legs  were  so  slender, 
that  he  enlarged  their  bulk  with  three  pair  of  stockings,  which 
were  drawn  on  and  off  by  the  maid ;  for  he  was  not  able  to  dress 
or  undress  himself,  and  neither  went  to  bed  nor  rose  without  help. 
His  weakness  made  it  very  difficult  for  him  to  be  clean. 

His  hair  had  fallen  almost  all  away ;  and  he  used  to  dine  some- 
times with  Lord  Oxford,  privately,  in  a  velvet  cap.  His  dress  of 
ceremony  was  black  with  a  tye-wig,  and  a  little  sword. 

The  indulgence  and  accommodation  which  his  sickness  required, 
had  taught  him  all  the  unpleasing  and  unsocial  qualities  of  a  valetu- 
dinary man.  He  expected  that  every  thing  should  give  way  to  his 
ease  or  humour,  as  a  child,  whose  parents  will  not  hear  her  cry, 
has  an  unresisted  dominion  in  the  nursery. 

C'est  que  V enfant  toujours  est  homme, 
C'est  que  I' homme  est  toujours  enfant. 

When  he  wanted  to  sleep  he  nodded  in  company;  and  once  slum- 
bered at  his  own  table  while  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  talking  of 
poetry. 


248  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

The  reputation  which  his  friendship  gave,  procured  him  many 
invitations;  but  he  was  a  very  troublesome  inmate.  He  brought 
no  servant,  and  had  so  many  wants,  that  a  numerous  attendance 
was  scarcely  able  to  supply  them.  Wherever  he  was,  he  left  no 
room  for  another,  because  he  exacted  the  attention,  and  employed 
the  activity  of  the  whole  family.  His  errands  were  so  frequent  and 
frivolous,  that  the  footmen  in  time  avoided  and  neglected  him; 
and  the  Earl  of  Oxford  discharged  some  of  the  servants  for  their 
resolute  refusal  of  his  messages.  The  maids,  when  they  had 
neglected  their  business,  alleged  that  they  had  been  employed  by 
Mr.  Pope.  One  of  his  constant  demands  was  of  coffee  in  the 
night,  and  to  the  woman  that  waited  on  him  in  his  chamber  he 
was  very  burthensome:  but  he  was  careful  to  recompense  her 
want  of  sleep ;  and  Lord  Oxford's  servant  declared,  that  in  a  house 
where  her  business  was  to  answer  his  call,  she  would  not  ask  for 
wages. 

He  had  another  fault,  easily  incident  to  those  who,  suffering  much 
pain,  think  themselves  entitled  to  whatever  pleasures  they  can 
snatch.  He  was  too  indulgent  to  his  appetite;  he  loved  meat 
highly  seasoned  and  of  strong  taste;  and,  at  the  intervals  of  the 
table,  amused  himself  with  biscuits  and  dry  conserves.  If  he  sat 
down  to  a  variety  of  dishes,  he  would  oppress  his  stomach  with 
repletion ;  and  though  he  seemed  angry  when  a  dram  was  offered 
him,  did  not  forbear  to  drink  it.  His  friends,  who  knew  the  avenues 
to  his  heart,  pampered  him  with  presents  of  luxury,  which  he  did 
not  suffer  to  stand  neglected.  The  death  of  great  men  is  not 
always  proportioned  to  the  lustre  of  their  lives.  Hannibal, 
says  Juvenal,  did  not  perish  by  a  javelin  or  a  sword ;  the  slaughters 
of  Cannae  were  revenged  by  a  ring.  The  death  of  Pope  was  im- 
puted by  some  of  his  friends  to  a  silver  sauce-pan,  in  which  it  was 
his  delight  to  heat  potted  lampreys. 

That  he  loved  too  well  to  eat,  is  certain ;  but  that  his  sensuality 
shortened  his  life  will  not  be  hastily  concluded,  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  a  conformation  so  irregular  lasted  six  and  fifty  years, 
notwithstanding  such  pertinacious  diligence  of  study  and  medita- 
tion. 

In  all  his  intercourse  with  mankind,  he  had  great  delight  in 
artifice,  and  endeavoured  to  attain  all  his  purposes  by  indirect  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  249 

unsuspected  methods.  He  hardly  drank  tea  without  a  stratagem. 
If,  at  the  house  of  his  friends,  he  wanted  any  accommodation,  he  was 
not  willing  to  ask  for  it  in  plain  terms,  but  would  mention  it  re- 
motely as  something  convenient;  though,  when  it  was  procured,  he 
soon  made  it  appear  for  whose  sake  it  had  been  recommended. 
Thus  he  teized  Lord  Orrery  till  he  obtained  a  screen.  He  prac- 
tised his  arts  on  such  small  occasions,  that  Lady  Bolingbroke  used 
to  say,  in  a  French  phrase,  that  he  played  the  politician  about  cab- 
bages and  turnips.  His  unjustifiable  impression  of  the  Patriot 
King,  as  it  can  be  imputed  to  no  particular  motive,  must  have 
proceeded  from  his  general  habit  of  secrecy  and  cunning;  he 
caught  an  opportunity  of  a  sly  trick,  and  pleased  himself  with  the 
thought  of  outwitting  Bolingbroke. 

In  familiar  or  convivial  conversation,  it  does  not  appear  that  he 
excelled.  He  may  be  said  to  have  resembled  Dryden,  as  being 
not  one  that  was  distinguished  by  vivacity  in  company.  It  is 
remarkable,  that,  so  near  his  time,  so  much  should  be  known  of 
what  he  has  written,  and  so  little  of  what  he  has  said :  traditional 
memory  retains  no  sallies  of  raillery,  nor  sentences  of  observation ; 
nothing  either  pointed  or  solid,  either  wise  or  merry.  One  apoph- 
thegm only  stands  upon  record.  When  an  objection  raised  against 
his  inscription  for  Shakespeare  was  defended  by  the  authority  of 
Patrick,  he  replied  —  horresco  referens  —  that  he  would  allow  the 
publisher  of  a  Dictionary  to  know  the  meaning  of  a  single  word,  but 
not  of  two  words  put  together. 

He  was  fretful,  and  easily  displeased,  and  allowed  himself 
to  be  capriciously  resentful.  He  would  sometimes  leave  Lord 
Oxford  silently,  no  one  could  tell  why,  and  was  to  be  courted  back 
by  more  letters  and  messages  than  the  footmen  were  willing  to  carry. 
The  table  was  indeed  infested  by  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  who  was  the 
friend  of  Lady  Oxford,  and  who,  knowing  his  peevishness,  could 
by  no  intreaties  be  restrained  from  contradicting  him,  till  their 
disputes  were  sharpened  to  such  asperity,  that  one  or  the  other 
quitted  the  house. 

He  sometimes  condescended  to  be  jocular  with  servants  or  in- 
feriors; but  by  no  merriment,  either  of  others  or  his  own,  was  he 
ever  seen  excited  to  laughter. 

Of   his  domestick  character,  frugality  was  a  part  eminently 


250  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

remarkable.  Having  determined  not  to  be  dependent,  he 
determined  not  to  be  in  want,  and  therefore  wisely  and 
magnanimously  rejected  all  temptations  to  expence  unsuitable 
to  his  fortune.  This  general  care  must  be  universally  approved ; 
but  it  sometimes  appeared  in  petty  artifices  of  parsimony, 
such  as  the  practice  of  writing  his  compositions  on  the  back 
of  letters,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  remaining  copy  of  the  Iliad,  by 
which  perhaps  in  five  years  five  shillings  were  saved;  or  in  a 
niggardly  reception  of  his  friends,  and  scantiness  of  entertain- 
ment, as,  when  he  had  two  guests  in  his  house,  he  would  set  at 
supper  a  single  pint  upon  the  table;  and  having  himself  taken 
two  small  glasses,  would  retire,  and  say,  Gentlemen,  I  leave  you 
to  your  wine.  Yet  he  tells  his  friends,  that  he  has  a  heart 
for  all,  a  house  for  all,  and,  whatever  they  may  think,  a 
fortune  for  all. 

He  sometimes,  however,  made  a  splendid  dinner,  and  is  said  to 
have  wanted  no  part  of  the  skill  or  elegance  which  such  performances 
require.  That  this  magnificence  should  be  often  displayed,  that 
obstinate  prudence  with  which  he  conducted  his  affairs  would  not 
permit;  for  his  revenue,  certain  and  casual,  amounted  only  to 
about  eight  hundred  pounds  a  year,  of  which,  however,  he  declares 
himself  able  to  assign  one  hundred  to  charity. 

Of  this  fortune,  which  as  it  arose  from  publick  approbation 
was  very  honourably  obtained,  his  imagination  seems  to  have  been 
too  full :  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  man,  so  well  entitled  to  notice 
by  his  wit,  that  ever  delighted  so  much  in  talking  of  his  money. 
In  his  Letters,  and  in  his  Poems,  his  garden  and  his  grotto,  his 
quincunx  and  his  vines,  or  some  hints  of  his  opulence,  are  always 
to  be  found.  The  great  topick  of  his  ridicule  is  poverty ;  the  crimes 
with  which  he  reproaches  his  antagonists  are  their  debts,  their 
habitation  in  the  Mint,  and  their  want  of  a  dinner.  He  seems 
to  be  of  an  opinion  not  very  uncommon  in  the  world,  that  to  want 
money  is  to  want  every  thing. 

Next  to  the  pleasure  of  contemplating  his  possessions,  seems  to 
be  that  of  enumerating  the  men  of  high  rank  with  whom  he  was 
acquainted,  and  whose  notice  he  loudly  proclaims  not  to  have  been 
obtained  by  any  practices  of  meanness  or  servility ;  a  boast  which 
was  never  denied  to  be  true,  and  to  which  very  few  poets  have  ever 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  251 

aspired.  Pope  never  set  genius  to  sale;  he  never  flattered  those 
whom  he  did  not  love,  or  praised  those  whom  he  did  not  esteem. 
Savage  however  remarked,  that  he  began  a  little  to  relax  his  dignity 
when  he  wrote  a  distich  for  his  Highness' s  dog. 

His  admiration  of  the  Great  seems  to  have  increased  in  the  ad- 
vance of  life.  He  passed  over  peers  and  statesmen  to  inscribe 
his  Iliad  to  Congreve,  with  a  magnanimity  of  which  the  praise 
had  been  complete,  had  his  friend's  virtue  been  equal  to  his  wit. 
Why  he  was  chosen  for  so  great  an  honour,  it  is  not  now  possible 
to  know;  there  is  no  trace  in  literary  history  of  any  particular 
intimacy  between  them.  The  name  of  Congreve  appeals  in  the 
Letters  among  those  of  his  other  friends,  but  without  any  observ- 
able distinction  or  consequence. 

To  his  latter  works,  however,  he  took  care  to  annex  names 
dignified  with  titles,  but  was  not  very  happy  in  his  choice;  for, 
except  Lord  Bathurst,  none  of  his  noble  friends  were  such  as  that 
a  good  man  would  wish  to  have  his  intimacy  with  them  known 
to  posterity :  he  can  derive  little  honour  from  the  notice  of  Cobham, 
Burlington,  or  Bolingbroke. 

Of  his  social  qualities,  if  an  estimate  be  made  from  his  Letters,  an 
opinion  too  favourable  cannot  easily  be  formed;  they  exhibit  a 
perpetual  and  unclouded  effulgence  of  general  benevolence,  and 
particular  fondness.  There  is  nothing  but  liberality,  gratitude, 
constancy,  and  tenderness.  It  has  been  so  long  said  as  to  be  com- 
monly believed,  that  the  true  characters  of  men  may  be  found  in 
their  Letters,  and  that  he  who  writes  to  his  friend  lays  his  heart 
open  before  him.  But  the  truth  is,  that  such  were  the  simple 
friendships  of  the  Golden  Age,  and  are  now  the  friendships  only 
of  children.  Very  few  can  boast  of  hearts  which  they  dare  lay  open 
to  themselves,  and  of  which,  by  whatever  accident  exposed, 
they  do  not  shun  a  distinct  and  continued  view;  and,  certainly, 
what  we  hide  from  ourselves  we  do  not  shew  to  our  friends.  There 
is,  indeed,  no  transaction  which  offers  stronger  temptations  to 
fallacy  and  sophistication  than  epistolary  intercourse.  In  the 
eagerness  of  conversation  the  first  emotions  of  the  mind  often 
burst  out,  before  they  are  considered;  in  the  tumult  of  business, 
interest  and  passion  have  their  genuine  effect ;  but  a  friendly  Letter 
is  a  calm  and  deliberate  performance,  in  the  cool  of  leisure,  in  the 


252  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

stillness  of  solitude,  and  surely  no  man  sits  down  to  depreciate 
by  design  his  own  character. 

Friendship  has  no  tendency  to  secure  veracity;  for  by  whom 
can  a  man  so  much  wish  to  be  thought  better  than  he  is,  as  by 
him  whose  kindness  he  desires  to  gain  or  keep  ?  Even  in  writing 
to  the  world  there  is  less  constraint;  the  author  is  not  confronted 
with  his  reader,  and  takes  his  chance  of  approbation  among  the 
different  dispositions  of  mankind;  but  a  Letter  is  addressed  to  a 
single  mind,  of  which  the  prejudices  and  partialities  are  known; 
and  must  therefore  please,  if  not  by  favouring  them,  by  forbearing 
to  oppose  them. 

To  charge  those  favourable  representations,  which  men  give 
of  their  own  minds,  with  the  guilt  of  hypocritical  falsehood,  would 
shew  more  severity  than  knowledge.  The  writer  commonly  be- 
lieves himself.  Almost  every  man's  thoughts,  while  they  are  gen- 
eral, are  right;  and  most  hearts  are  pure,  while  temptation  is  away. 
It  is  easy  to  awaken  generous  sentiments  in  privacy;  to  despise 
death  when  there  is  no  danger;  to  glow  with  benevolence  when 
there  is  nothing  to  be  given.  While  such  ideas  are  formed  they 
are  felt,  and  self-love  does  not  suspect  the  gleam  of  virtue  to  be  the 
meteor  of  fancy. 

If  the  Letters  of  Pope  are  considered  merely  as  compositions,  they 
seem  to  be  premeditated  and  artificial.  It  is  one  thing  to  write 
because  there  is  something  which  the  mind  wishes  to  discharge, 
and  another,  to  solicit  the  imagination  because  ceremony  or  vanity 
requires  something  to  be  written.  Pope  confesses  his  early  Letters 
to  be  vitiated  with  affectation  and  ambition:  to  know  whether  he 
disentangled  himself  from  these  perverters  of  epistolary  integrity, 
his  book  and  his  life  must  be  set  in  comparison. 

One  of  his  favourite  topicks  is  contempt  of  his  own  poetry. 
For  this,  if  it  had  been  real,  he  would  deserve  no  commendation ; 
and  in  this  he  was  certainly  not  sincere,  for  his  high  value  of  him- 
self was  sufficiently  observed ;  and  of  what  could  he  be  proud  but 
of  his  poetry  ?  He  writes,  he  says,  when  he  has  just  nothing  else 
to  do;  yet  Swift  complains  that  he  was  never  at  leisure  for  conversa- 
tion, because  he  had  always  some  poetical  scheme  in  his  head.  It 
was  punctually  required  that  his  writing-box  should  be  set  upon 
his  bed  before  he  rose ;  and  Lord  Oxford's  domestick  related,  that, 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  253 

in  the  dreadful  winter  of  Forty,  she  was  called  from  her  bed  by 
him  four  times  in  one  night,  to  supply  him  with  paper,  lest  he  should 
lose  a  thought. 

He  pretends  insensibility  to  censure  and  criticism,  though  it 
was  observed  by  all  who  knew  him  that  every  pamphlet  disturbed 
his  quiet,  and  that  his  extreme  irritability  laid  him  open  to  per- 
petual vexation ;  but  he  wished  to  despise  his  criticks,  and  therefore 
hoped  that  he  did  despise  them. 

As  he  happened  to  live  in  two  reigns  when  the  Court  paid  little 
attention  to  poetry,  he  nursed  in  his  mind  a  foolish  disesteem  of 
Kings,  and  proclaims  that  he  never  sees  Courts.  Yet  a  little  regard 
shewn  him  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  melted  his  obduracy ;  and  he 
had  not  much  to  say  when  he  was  asked  by  his  Royal  Highness, 
how  he  could  love  a  Prince  while  he  disliked  Kings  ? 

He  very  frequently  professes  contempt  of  the  world,  and  repre- 
sents himself  as  looking  on  mankind,  sometimes  with  gay  indiffer- 
ence, as  on  emmets  of  a  hillock,  below  his  serious  attention;  and 
sometimes  with  gloomy  indignation,  as  on  monsters  more  worthy 
of  hatred  than  of  pity.  These  were  dispositions  apparently  counter- 
feited. How  could  he  despise  those  whom  he  lived  by  pleasing, 
and  on  whose  approbation  his  esteem  of  himself  wassuperstructed  ? 
Why  should  he  hate  those  to  whose  favour  he  owed  his  honour  and 
his  ease?  Of  things  that  terminate  in  human  life,  the  world  is 
the  proper  judge ;  to  despise  its  sentence,  if  it  were  possible,  is  not 
just ;  and  if  it  were  just,  is  not  possible.  Pope  was  far  enough  from 
this  unreasonable  temper ;  he  was  sufficiently  a  fool  to  Fame, 
and  his  fault  was  that  he  pretended  to  neglect  it.  His  levity 
and  his  sullenness  were  only  in  his  Letters;  he  passed  through 
common  life,  sometimes  vexed,  and  sometimes  pleased,  with  the 
natural  emotions  of  common  men. 

His  scorn  of  the  Great  is  repeated  too  often  to  be  real ;  no  man 
thinks  much  of  that  which  he  despises ;  and  as  falsehood  is  always 
in  danger  of  inconsistency,  he  makes  it  his  boast  at  another  time 
that  he  lives  among  them. 

It  is  evident  that  his  own  importance  swells  often  in  his  mind. 
He  is  afraid  of  writing,  lest  the  clerks  of  the  Post-office  should 
know  his  secrets;  he  has  many  enemies;  he  considers  himself 
as  surrounded  by  universal  jealousy ;  after  many  deaths,  and  many 


254  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

dispersions,  two  or  three  of  us,  says  he,  may  still  be  brought  to- 
gether, not  to  plot,  but  to  divert  ourselves,  and  the  world  too,  if  it 
pleases;  and  they  can  live  together,  and  shew  what  friends  wits 
may  be,  in  spite  of  all  the  fools  in  the  world.  All  this  while  it  was 
likely  that  the  clerks  did  not  know  his  hand ;  he  certainly  had  no 
more  enemies  than  a  publick  character  like  his  inevitably  excites, 
and  with  what  degree  of  friendship  the  wits  might  live,  very  few 
were  so  much  fools  as  ever  to  enquire. 

Some  part  of  this  pretended  discontent  he  learned  from  Swift, 
and  expresses  it,  I  think,  most  frequently  in  his  correspondence 
with  him.  Swift's  resentment  was  unreasonable,  but  it  was  sin- 
cere; Pope's  was  the  mere  mimickry  of  his  friend,  a  fictitious  part 
which  he  began  to  play  before  it  became  him.  When  he  was  only 
twenty-five  years  old,  he  related  that  a  glut  of  study  and  retirement 
had  thrown  him  on  the  world,  and  that  there  was  danger  lest  a  glut 
of  the  world  should  throw  him  back  upon  study  and  retirement.  To 
this  Swift  answered  with  great  propriety,  that  Pope  had  not  yet 
either  acted  or  suffered  enough  in  the  world  to  have  become  weary 
of  it.  And,  indeed,  it  must  be  some  very  powerful  reason  that 
can  drive  back  to  solitude  him  who  has  once  enjoyed  the  pleasures 
of  society. 

In  the  Letters  both  of  Swift  and  Pope  there  appears  such  narrow- 
ness of  mind,  as  makes  them  insensible  of  any  excellence  that  has 
not  some  affinity  with  their  own,  and  confines  their  esteem  and 
approbation  to  so  small  a  number,  that  whoever  should  form  his 
opinion  of  the  age  from  their  representation,  would  suppose  them  to 
have  lived  amidst  ignorance  and  barbarity,  unable  to  find  among 
their  contemporaries  either  virtue  or  intelligence,  and  persecuted 
by  those  that  could  not  understand  them. 

When  Pope  murmurs  at  the  world,  when  he  professes  contempt 
of  fame,  when  he  speaks  of  riches  and  poverty,  of  success  and  dis- 
appointment, with  negligent  indifference,  he  certainly  does  not 
express  his  habitual  and  settled  sentiments,  but  either  wilfully 
disguises  his  own  character,  or,  what  is  more  likely,  invests  himself 
with  temporary  qualities,  and  sallies  out  in  the  colours  of  the  present 
moment.  His  hopes  and  fears,  his  joys  and  sorrows,  acted  strongly 
upon  his  mind ;  and  if  he  differed  from  others,  it  was  not  by  care- 
lessness; he  was  irritable  and  resentful;  his  malignity  to  Philips, 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  255 

whom  he  had  first  made  ridiculous,  and  then  hated  for  being  angry, 
continued  too  long.  Of  his  vain  desire  to  make  Bentley  contemp- 
tible, I  never  heard  any  adequate  reason.  He  was  sometimes 
wanton  in  his  attacks;  and,  before  Chandos,  Lady  Wortley, 
and  Hill,  was  mean  in  his  retreat. 

The  virtues  which  seem  to  have  had  most  of  his  affection  were 
liberality  and  fidelity  of  friendship,  in  which  it  does  not  appear  that 
he  was  other  than  he  describes  himself.  His  fortune  did  not  suffer 
his  charity  to  be  splendid  and  conspicuous;  but  he  assisted  Dodsley 
with  a  hundred  pounds,  that  he  might  open  a  shop;  and  of  the 
subscription  of  forty  pounds  a  year  that  he  raised  for  Savage, 
twenty  were  paid  by  himself.  He  was  accused  of  loving  money, 
but  his  love  was  eagerness  to  gain,  not  solicitude  to  keep  it. 

In  the  duties  of  friendship  he  was  zealous  and  constant;  his 
early  maturity  of  mind  commonly  united  him  with  men  older  than 
himself,  and  therefore,  without  attaining  any  considerable  length  of 
life,  he  saw  many  companions  of  his  youth  sink  into  the  grave ;  but 
it  does  not  appear  that  he  lost  a  single  friend  by  coldness  or  by  in- 
jury; those  who  loved  him  once,  continued  their  kindness.  His 
ungrateful  mention  of  Allen  in  his  will,  was  the  effect  of  his  adherence 
to  one  whom  he  had  known  much  longer,  and  whom  he  naturally 
loved  with  greater  fondness.  His  violation  of  the  trust  reposed  on 
him  by  Bolingbroke  could  have  no  motive  inconsistent  with  the 
warmest  affection ;  he  either  thought  the  action  so  near  to  indiffer- 
ent that  he  forgot  it,  or  so  laudable  that  he  expected  his  friend  to 
approve  it. 

It  was  reported,  with  such  confidence  as  almost  to  enforce  belief, 
that  in  the  papers  intrusted  to  his  executors  was  found  a  defama- 
tory Life  of  Swift,  which  he  had  prepared  as  an  instrument  of 
vengeance  to  be  used,  if  any  provocation  should  be  ever  given. 
About  this  I  enquired  of  the  Earl  of  Marchmont,  who  assured  me 
that  no  such  piece  was  among  his  remains. 

The  religion  in  which  he  lived  and  died  was  that  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,  to  which  in  his  correspondence  with  Racine  he  professes 
himself  a  sincere  adherent.  That  he  was  not  scrupulously  pious 
in  some  part  of  his  life,  is  known  by  many  idle  and  indecent  applica- 
tions of  sentences  taken  from  the  Scriptures;  a  mode  of  merri- 
ment which  a  good  man  dreads  for  its  profaneness,  and  a  witty 


256  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

man  disdains  for  its  easiness  and  vulgarity.  But  to  whatever 
levities  he  has  been  betrayed,  it  does  not  appear  that  his  principles 
were  ever  corrupted,  or  that  he  ever  lost  his  belief  of  Revelation. 
The  positions  which  he  transmitted  from  Bolingbroke  he  seems  not 
to  have  understood,  and  was  pleased  with  an  interpretation  that 
made  them  orthodox. 

A  man  of  such  exalted  superiority,  and  so  little  moderation, 
would  naturally  have  all  his  delinquencies  observed  and  aggravated : 
those  who  could  not  deny  that  he  was  excellent,  would  rejoice  to 
find  that  he  was  not  perfect. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  imputed  to  the  unwillingness  with  which  the 
same  man  is  allowed  to  possess  many  advantages,  that  his  learning 
has  been  depreciated.  He  certainly  was  in  his  early  life  a  man  of 
great  literary  curiosity ;  and  when  he  wrote  his  Essay  on  Criticism 
had,  for  his  age,  a  very  wide  acquaintance  with  books.  When  he 
entered  into  the  living  world,  it  seems  to  have  happened  to  him  as 
to  many  others,  that  he  was  less  attentive  to  dead  masters;  he 
studied  in  the  academy  of  Paracelsus,  and  made  the  universe  his 
favourite  volume.  He  gathered  his  notions  fresh  from  reality, 
not  from  the  copies  of  authors,  but  the  originals  of  Nature.  Yet 
there  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  literature  ever  lost  his  esteem; 
he  always  professed  to  love  reading;  and  Dobson,  who  spent  some 
time  at  his  house  translating  his  Essay  on  Man,  when  I  asked  him 
what  learning  he  found  him  to  possess,  answered,  More  than  I 
expected.  His  frequent  references  to  history,  his  allusions  to 
various  kinds  of  knowledge,  and  his  images  selected  from  art  and 
nature,  with  his  observations  on  the  operations  of  the  mind  and  the 
modes  of  life,  shew  an  intelligence  perpetually  on  the  wing,  excur- 
sive, vigorous,  and  diligent,  eager  to  pursue  knowledge,  and  atten- 
tive to  retain  it. 

From  this  curiosity  arose  the  desire  of  travelling,  to  which  he 
alludes  in  his  verses  to  Jervas,  and  which,  though  he  never 
found  an  opportunity  to  gratify  it,  did  not  leave  him  till  his 
life  declined. 

Of  his  intellectual  character,  the  constituent  and  fundamental 
principle  was  Good  Sense,  a  prompt  and  intuitive  perception  of 
consonance  and  propriety.  He  saw  immediately,  of  his  own  con- 
ceptions, what  was  to  be  chosen,  and  what  to  be  rejected ;  and,  in 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  257 

the  works  of  others,  what  was  to  be  shunned,  and  what  was  to  be 
copied. 

But  good  sense  alone  is  a  sedate  and  quiescent  quality,  which 
manages  its  possessions  well,  but  does  not  increase  them ;  it  collects 
few  materials  for  its  own  operations,  and  preserves  safety,  but  never 
gains  supremacy.  Pope  had  likewise  genius;  a  mind  active,  am- 
bitious, and  adventurous,  always  investigating,  always  aspiring; 
in  its  widest  searches  still  longing  to  go  forward,  in  its  highest 
flights  still  wishing  to  be  higher;  always  imagining  something 
greater  than  it  knows,  always  endeavouring  more  than  it  can  do. 

To  assist  these  powers,  he  is  said  to  have  had  great  strength  and 
exactness  of  memory.  That  which  he  had  heard  or  read  was  not 
easily  lost;  and  he  had  before  him  not  only  what  his  own  medita- 
tion suggested,  but  what  he  had  found  in  other  writers,  that  might 
be  accommodated  to  his  present  purpose. 

These  benefits  of  nature  he  improved  by  incessant  and  unwearied 
diligence ;  he  had  recourse  to  every  source  of  intelligence,  and  lost 
no  opportunity  of  information ;  he  consulted  the  living  as  well  as  the 
dead;  he  read  his  compositions  to  his  friends,  and  was  never 
content  with  mediocrity  when  excellence  could  be  attained.  He 
considered  poetry  as  the  business  of  his  life,  and  however  he  might 
seem  to  lament  his  occupation,  he  followed  it  with  constancy; 
to  make  verses  was  his  first  labour,  and  to  mend  them  was  his  last. 

From  his  attention  to  poetry  he  was  never  diverted.  If  con- 
versation offered  anything  that  could  be  improved,  he  committed 
it  to  paper;  if  a  thought,  or  perhaps  an  expression  more  happy 
than  was  common,  rose  to  his  mind,  he  was  careful  to  write  it ;  an 
independent  distich  was  preserved  for  an  opportunity  of  insertion, 
and  some  little  fragments  have  been  found  containing  lines,  or 
parts  of  lines,  to  be  wrought  upon  at  some  other  time. 

He  was  one  of  those  few  whose  labour  is  their  pleasure :  he  was 
never  elevated  to  negligence,  nor  wearied  to  impatience ;  he  never 
passed  a  fault  unamended  by  indifference,  nor  quitted  it  by  despair. 
He  laboured  his  works  first  to  gain  reputation,  and  afterwards  to 
keep  it. 

Of  composition  there  are  different  methods.  Some  employ  at 
once  memory  and  invention,  and,  with  little  intermediate  use  of  the 
pen,  form  and  polish  large  masses  by  continued  meditation,  and 


258  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

write  their  productions  only  when,  in  their  own  opinion,  they  have 
completed  them.  It  is  related  of  Virgil,  that  his  custom  was  to 
pour  out  a  great  number  of  verses  in  the  morning,  and  pass  the 
day  in  retrenching  exuberances  and  correcting  inaccuracies.  The 
method  of  Pope,  as  may  be  collected  from  his  translation,  was 
to  write  his  first  thoughts  in  his  first  words,  and  gradually  to 
amplify,  decorate,  rectify,  and  refine  them. 

With  such  faculties,  and  such  dispositions,  he  excelled  every 
other  writer  in  poetical  prudence;  he  wrote  in  such  a  manner  as 
might  expose  him  to  few  hazards.  He  used  almost  always  the 
same  fabrick  of  verse;  and,  indeed,  by  those  few  essays  which  he 
made  of  any  other,  he  did  not  enlarge  his  reputation.  Of  this  uni- 
formity the  certain  consequence  was  readiness  and  dexterity.  By 
perpetual  practice,  language  had  in  his  mind  a  systematical  arrange- 
ment ;  having  always  the  same  use  for  words,  he  had  words  so  se- 
lected and  combined  as  to  be  ready  at  his  call.  This  increase  of 
facility  he  confessed  himself  to  have  perceived  in  the  progress  of 
his  translation. 

But  what  was  yet  of  more  importance,  his  effusions  were  always 
voluntary,  and  his  subjects  chosen  by  himself.  His  independence 
secured  him  from  drudging  at  a  task,  and  labouring  upon  a  barren 
topick :  he  never  exchanged  praise  for  money,  nor  opened  a  shop 
of  condolence  or  congratulation.  His  poems,  therefore,  were  scarce 
ever  temporary.  He  suffered  coronations  and  royal  marriages 
to  pass  without  a  song,  and  derived  no  opportunities  from  recent 
events,  nor  any  popularity  from  the  accidental  disposition  of  his 
readers.  He  was  never  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  soliciting  the 
sun  to  shine  upon  a  birthday,  of  calling  the  Graces  and  Virtues 
to  a  wedding,  or  of  saying  what  multitudes  have  said  before  him. 
When  he  could  produce  nothing  new,  he  was  at  liberty  to  be  silent. 

His  publications  were  for  the  same  reason  never  hasty.  He 
is  said  to  have  sent  nothing  to  the  press  till  it  had  lain  two  years 
under  his  inspection:  it  is  at  least  certain,  that  he  ventured  nothing 
without  nice  examination.  He  suffered  the  tumult  of  imagination 
to  subside,  and  the  novelties  of  invention  to  grow  familiar.  He 
knew  that  the  mind  is  always  enamoured  of  its  own  productions, 
and  did  not  trust  his  first  fondness.  He  consulted  his  friends, 
and  listened  with  great  willingness  to  criticism;  and,  what  was 


THE   LIFE   OF  POPE 


259 


of  more  importance,  he  consulted  himself,  and  let  nothing  pass 
against  his  own  judgement. 

He  professed  to  have  learned  his  poetry  from  Dryden,  whom, 
whenever  an  opportunity  was  presented,  he  praised  through  his 
whole  life  with  unvaried  liberality ;  and  perhaps  his  character  may 
receive  some  illustration,  if  he  be  compared  with  his  master. 

Integrity  of  understanding  and  nicety  of  discernment  were  not 
allotted  in  a  less  proportion  to  Dryden  than  to  Pope.  The  rectitude 
of  Dryden's  mind  was  sufficiently  shewn  by  the  dismission  of  his 
poetical  prejudices,  and  the  rejection  of  unnatural  thoughts  and 
rugged  numbers.  But  Dryden  never  desired  to  apply  all  the 
judgement  that  he  had.  He  wrote,  and  professed  to  write,  merely 
for  the  people ;  and  when  he  pleased  others,  he  contented  himself. 
He  spent  no  time  in  struggles  to  rouse  latent  powers;  he  never 
attempted  to  make  that  better  which  was  already  good,  nor  often  to 
mend  what  he  must  have  known  to  be  faulty.  He  wrote,  as  he 
tells  us,  with  very  little  consideration ;  when  occasion  or  necessity 
called  upon  him,  he  poured  out  what  the  present  moment  happened 
to  supply,  and,  when  once  it  had  passed  the  press,  ejected  it  from 
his  mind;  for  when  he  had  no  pecuniary  interest,  he  had  no  further 
solicitude. 

Pope  was  not  content  to  satisfy ;  he  desired  to  excel,  and  therefore 
always  endeavoured  to  do  his  best :  he  did  not  court  the  candour, 
but  dared  the  judgement  of  his  reader,  and,  expecting  no  in- 
dulgence from  others,  he  shewed  none  to  himself.  He  examined 
lines  and  words  with  minute  and  punctilious  observation,  and 
retouched  every  part  with  indefatigable  diligence,  till  he  had  left 
nothing  to  be  forgiven. 

For  this  reason  he  kept  his  pieces  very  long  in  his  hands,  while  he 
considered  and  reconsidered  them.  The  only  poems  which  can  be 
supposed  to  have  been  written  with  such  regard  to  the  times  as 
might  hasten  their  publication,  were  the  two  satires  of  Thirty-eight; 
of  which  Dodsley  told  me,  that  they  were  brought  to  him  by  the 
author,  that  they  might  be  fairly  copied.  'Almost  every  line,'  he  said, 
'was  then  written  twice  over ;  I  gave  him  a  clean  transcript,  which 
he  sent  some  time  afterwards  to  me  for  the  press,  with  almost  every 
line  written  twice  over  a  second  time.' 

His  declaration,  that  his  care  for  his  works  ceased    at  their 


260  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

publication,  was  not  strictly  true.  His  parental  attention  never 
abandoned  them;  what  he  found  amiss  in  the  first  edition,  he 
silently  corrected  in  those  that  followed.  He  appears  to  have 
revised  the  Iliad,  and  freed  it  from  some  of  its  imperfections;  and 
the  Essay  on  Criticism  received  many  improvements  after  its  first 
appearance.  It  will  seldom  be  found  that  he  altered  without  add- 
ing clearness,  elegance,  or  vigour.  Pope  had  perhaps  the  judge- 
ment of  Dryden ;  but  Dryden  certainly  wanted  the  diligence  of  Pope. 

In  acquired  knowledge,  the  superiority  must  be  allowed  to 
Dryden,  whose  education  was  more  scholastick,  and  who  before  he 
became  an  author  had  been  allowed  more  time  for  study,  with  better 
means  of  information.  His  mind  has  a  larger  range ,  and  he  collects 
his  images  and  illustrations  from  a  more  extensive  circumfer- 
ence of  science.  Dryden  knew  more  of  man  in  his  general 
nature,  and  Pope  in  his  local  manners.  The  notions  of  Dryden 
were  formed  by  comprehensive  speculation,  and  those  of  Pope  by 
minute  attention.  There  is  more  dignity  in  the  knowledge  of 
Dryden,  and  more  certainty  in  that  of  Pope. 

Poetry  was  not  the  sole  praise  of  either ;  for  both  excelled  like- 
wise in  prose ;  but  Pope  did  not  borrow  his  prose  from  his  prede- 
cessor. The  style  of  Dryden  is  capricious  and  varied;  that  of 
Pope  is  cautious  and  uniform.  Dryden  obeys  the  motions  of  his 
own  mind;  Pope  constrains  his  mind  to  his  own  rules  of  compo- 
sition. Dryden  is  sometimes  vehement  and  rapid ;  Pope  is  always 
smooth,  uniform,  and  gentle.  Dryden's  page  is  a  natural  field, 
rising  into  inequalities,  and  diversified  by  the  varied  exuberance 
of  abundant  vegetation ;  Pope's  is  a  velvet  lawn,  shaven  by  the 
scythe,  and  levelled  by  the  roller. 

Of  genius,  that  power  which  constitutes  a  poet;  that  quality 
without  which  judgement  is  cold  and  knowledge  is  inert;  that 
energy  which  collects,  combines,  amplifies,  and  animates ;  the  su- 
periority must,  with  some  hesitation,  be  allowed  to  Dryden.  It  is 
not  to  be  inferred  that  of  this  poetical  vigour  Pope  had  only  a  little, 
because  Dryden  had  more;  for  every  other  writer  since  Milton 
must  give  place  to  Pope ;  and  even  of  Dryden  it  must  be  said, 
that  if  he  has  brighter  paragraphs,  he  has  not  better  poems. 
Dryden's  performances  were  always  hasty,  either  excited  by  some 
external  occasion,  or  extorted  by  domestick  necessity;  he  com- 


THE  LIFE  OF  POPE  261 

posed  without  consideration,  and  published  without  correction. 
What  his  mind  could  supply  at  call,  or  gather  in  one  excursion, 
was  all  that  he  sought,  and  all  that  he  gave.  The  dilatory 
caution  of  Pope  enabled  him  to  condense  his  sentiments,  to  mul- 
tiply his  images,  and  to  accumulate  all  that  study  might  pro- 
duce, or  chance  might  supply.  If  the  flights  of  Dryden  there- 
fore are  higher,  Pope  continues  longer  on  the  wing.  If  of 
Dryden's  fire  the  blaze  is  brighter,  of  Pope's  the  heat  is  more 
regular  and  constant.  Dryden  often  surpasses  expectation,  and 
Pope  never  falls  below  it.  Dryden  is  read  with  frequent  aston- 
ishment, and  Pope  with  perpetual  delight. 

This  parallel  will,  I  hope,  when  it  is  well  considered,  be  found 
just;  and  if  the  reader  should  suspect  me,  as  I  suspect  myself,  of 
some  partial  fondness  for  the  memory  of  Dryden,  let  him  not  too 
hastily  condemn  me ;  for  meditation  and  enquiry  'may,  perhaps, 
shew  him  the  reasonableness  of  my  determination. 


JAMES  BOSWELL 

THE  MEETING   OF  DR.    JOHNSON  AND  WILKES 

[From  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.,  1791.     Edited  by  G.  B.  Hill, 
Vol.  Ill,  pp.  64-79,  Clarendon  Press,  Oxford,  1887. 
For  the  Life  of  Johnson,  see  post,  p.  439. 

"  The  Life  of  Johnson  is  assuredly  a  great,  a  very  great  work.  Homer  is 
not  more  decidedly  the  first  of  heroic  poets,  Shakspeare  is  not  more  decidedly 
the  first  of  dramatists,  Demosthenes  is  not  more  decidedly  the  first  of  orators, 
than  Boswell  is  the  first  of  biographers.  He  has  no  second.  He  has  dis- 
tanced all  his  competitors  so  decidedly  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  place 
them.  Eclipse  is  first,  and  the  rest  nowhere."  —  THOMAS  BABINGTON 
MACAULAY,  "Samuel  Johnson,"  1831,  in  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays. 

"Consider  too,  with  what  force,  diligence  and  vivacity  he  has  rendered 
back  all  this  which,  in  Johnson's  neighbourhood  his  'open  sense'  had  so 
eagerly  and  freely  taken  in.  That  loose-flowing,  careless-looking  Work  of 
his  is  as  a  picture  by  one  of  Nature's  own  Artists;  the  best  possible  resem- 
blance of  a  Reality;  like  the  very  image  thereof  in  a  clear  mirror.  Which 
indeed  it  was:  let  but  the  mirror  be  clear,  this  is  the  great  point;  the  picture 
must  and  will  be  genuine.  How  the  babbling  Bozzy,  inspired  only  by  love, 
and  the  recognition  and  vision  which  love  can  lend,  epitomises  nightly  the 
words  of  Wisdom,  the  deeds  and  aspects  of  Wisdom,  and  so,  by  little  and 
little,  unconsciously  works  together  for  us  a  whole  Johnsoniad;  a  more  free, 


262  JAMES  BOSWELL 

perfect,  sunlit  and  spirit-speaking  likeness,  than  for  many  centuries  had  been 
drawn  by  man  of  man !  Scarcely  since  the  days  of  Homer  has  the  feat  been 
equalled ;  indeed,  in  many  senses,  this  also  is  a  kind  of  Heroic  Poem.  The 
fit  Odyssey  of  our  unheroic  age  was  to  be  written,  not  sung;  of  a  Thinker, 
not  of  a  Fighter;  and  (for  want  of  a  Homer)  by  the  first  open  soul  that  might 
offer,  —  looked  such  even  through  the  organs  of  a  Boswell.  We  do  the 
man's  intellectual  endowment  great  wrong,  if  we  measure  it  by  its  mere 
logical  outcome;  though  here  too,  there  is  not  wanting  a  light  ingenuity,  a 
figurativeness  and  fanciful  sport,  with  glimpses  of  insight  far  deeper  than  the 
common.  But  Boswell's  grand  intellectual  talent  was,  as  such  ever  is,  an 
unconscious  one,  of  far  higher  reach  and  significance  than  Logic;  and  showed 
itself  in  the  whole,  not  in  parts.  Here  again  we  have  that  old  saying  verified, 
'The  heart  sees  farther  than  the  head.'  "  —THOMAS  CARLYLE,  "Boswell's 
Life  of  Johnson,"  1832,  in  Critical  and,  Miscellaneous  Essays.] 

I  am  now  to  record  a  very  curious  incident  in  Dr.  Johnson's 
life,  which  fell  under  my  own  observation;  of  which  pars  magna 
fui,  and  which  I  am  persuaded  will,  with  the  liberal-minded, 
be  much  to  his  credit. 

My  desire  of  being  acquainted  with  celebrated  men  of  every 
description,  had  made  me,  much  about  the  same  time,  obtain 
an  introduction  to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  and  to  John  Wilkes, 
Esq.  Two  men  more  different  could  perhaps  not  be  selected  out 
of  all  mankind.  They  had  even  attacked  one  another  with 
some  asperity  in  their  writings;  yet  I  lived  in  habits  of  friend- 
ship with  both.  I  could  fully  relish  the  excellence  of  each ;  for 
I  have  ever  delighted  in  that  intellectual  chymistry,  which  can 
separate  good  qualities  from  evil  in  the  same  person. 

Sir  John  Pringle,  "mine  own  friend  and  my  Father's  friend," 
between  whom  and  Dr.  Johnson  I  in  vain  wished  to  establish  an 
acquaintance,  as  I  respected  and  lived  in  intimacy  with  both 
of  them,  observed  to  me  once,  very  ingeniously,  "It  is  not  in 
friendship  as  in  mathematicks,  where  two  things,  each  equal  to 
a  third,  are  equal  between  themselves.  You  agree  with  Johnson 
as  a  middle  quality,  and  you  agree  with  me  as  a  middle  quality; 
but  Johnson  and  I  should  not  agree."  Sir  John  was  not  sufficiently 
flexible ;  so  I  desisted ;  knowing,  indeed,  that  the  repulsion  was 
equally  strong  on  the  part  of  Johnson;  who,  I  know  not  from 
what  cause,  unless  his  being  a  Scotchman,  had  formed  a  very 
erroneous  opinion  of  Sir  John.  But  I  conceived  an  irresistible 
wish,  if  possible,  to  bring  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkes  together. 
How  to  manage  it,  was  a  nice  and  difficult  matter. 


THE  MEETING  OF  DR.   JOHNSON   AND   WILKES     263 

My  worthy  booksellers  and  friends,  Messieurs  Dilly  in  the 
Poultry,  at  whose  hospitable  and  well-covered  table  I  have  seen 
a  greater  number  of  literary  men,  than  at  any  other,  except  that 
of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  had  invited  me  to  meet  Mr.  Wilkes  and 
some  more  gentlemen,  on  Wednesday,  May  15.  "Pray  (said 
I,)  let  us  have  Dr.  Johnson."— "What  with  Mr.  Wilkes?  not 
for  the  world,  (said  Mr.  Edward  Dilly ;)  Dr.  Johnson  would  never 
forgive  me." — "Come,  (said  I,)  if  you'll  let  me  negociate  for  you, 
I  will  be  answerable  that  all  shall  go  well."  DILLY.  "Nay,  if 
you  will  take  it  upon  you,  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see 
them  both  here." 

Notwithstanding  the  high  veneration  which  I  entertained  for 
Dr.  Johnson,  I  was  sensible  that  he  was  sometimes  a  little  actu- 
ated by  the  spirit  of  contradiction,  and  by  means  of  that  I  hoped 
I  should  gain  my  point.  I  was  persuaded  that  if  I  had  come 
upon  him  with  a  direct  proposal,  "Sir,  will  you  dine  in  company 
with  Jack  Wilkes?"  he  would  have  flown  into  a  passion,  and 
would  probably  have  answered,  "  Dine  with  Jack  Wilkes,  Sir ! 
I'd  as  soon  dine  with  Jack  Ketch."  l  I  therefore,  while  we 
were  sitting  quietly  by  ourselves  at  his  house  in  an  evening,  took 
occasion  to  open  my  plan  thus:  —  "Mr.  Dilly,  Sir,  sends  his 
respectful  compliments  to  you,  and  would  be  happy  if  you  would 
do  him  the  honour  to  dine  with  him  on  Wednesday  next  along 
with  me,  as  I  must  soon  go  to  Scotland."  JOHNSON.  "Sir, 
I  am  obliged  to  Mr.  Dilly.  I  will  wait  upon  him  —  "  BOSWELL. 
"Provided,  Sir,  I  suppose,  that  the  company  which  he  is  to 
have,  is  agreeable  to  you."  JOHNSON.  "What  do  you  mean, 
Sir?  What  do  you  take  me  for?  Do  you  think  I  am  so 
ignorant  of  the  world,  as  to  imagine  that  I  am  to  prescribe  to  a 
gentleman  what  company  he  is  to  have  at  his  table  ?  "  BOSWELL. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,  for  wishing  to  prevent  you  from  meeting 
people  whom  you  might  not  like.  Perhaps  he  may  have  some  of 
what  he  calls  his  patriotick  friends  with  him."  JOHNSON.  "Well, 
Sir,  and  what  then  ?  What  care  /  for  his  patriotick  friends  ?  Poh  ! " 
BOSWELL.  "I  should  not  be  surprized  to  find  Jack  Wilkes  there." 
JOHNSON.  "And  if  Jack  Wilkes  should  be  there,  what  is  that  to 

1  This  has  been  circulated  as  if  actually  said  by  Johnson ;  when  the  truth  is,  it 
was  only  supposed  by  me.  —  B. 


264  JAMES  BOSWELL 

me,  Sir?  My  dear  friend,  let  us  have  no  more  of  this.  I  am 
sorry  to  be  angry  with  you ;  but  really  it  is  treating  me  strangely 
to  talk  to  me  as  if  I  could  not  meet  any  company  whatever,  occa- 
sionally."  BOSWELL.  "Pray,  forgive  me,  Sir:  I  meant  well.  But 
you  shall  meet  whoever  comes,  for  me."  Thus  I  secured  him,  and 
told  Dilly  that  he  would  find  him  very  well  pleased  to  be  one  of 
his  guests  on  the  day  appointed. 

Upon  the  much-expected  Wednesday,  I  called  on  him  about 
half  an  hour  before  dinner,  as  I  often  did  when  we  were  to  dine 
out  together,  to  see  that  he  was  ready  in  time,  and  to  accompany 
him.  I  found  him  buffeting  his  books,  as  upon  a  former  occasion, 
covered  with  dust,  and  making  no  preparation  for  going  abroad. 
"  How  is  this,  Sir  ?  (said  I) .  Don't  you  recollect  that  you  are  to 
dine  at  Mr.  Billy's?"  JOHNSON.  "Sir,  I  did  not  think  of  going 
to  Dilly's :  it  went  out  of  my  head.  I  have  ordered  dinner  at  home 
with  Mrs.  Williams."  BOSWELL.  "But,  my  dear  Sir,  you  know 
you  were  engaged  to  Mr.  Dilly,  and  I  told  him  so.  He  will  expect 
you,  and  will  be  much  disappointed  if  you  don't  come. "  JOHNSON. 
"  You  must  talk  to  Mrs.  Williams  about  this. " 

Here  was  a  sad  dilemma.  I  feared  that  what  I  was  so  confident  I 
had  secured,  would  yet  be  frustrated.  He  had  accustomed  himself  to 
shew  Mrs.  Williams  such  a  degree  of  humane  attention,  as  frequently 
imposed  some  restraint  upon  him;  and  I  knew  that  if  she  should 
be  obstinate,  he  would  not  stir.  I  hastened  down  stairs  to  the 
blind  lady's  room,  and  told  her  I  was  in  great  uneasiness,  for  Dr. 
Johnson  had  engaged  to  me  to  dine  this  day  at  Mr.  Dilly's,  but 
that  he  had  told  me  he  had  forgotten  his  engagement,  and  had 
ordered  dinner  at  home.  "  Yes,  Sir,  (said  she,  pretty  peevishly,) 
Dr.  Johnson  is  to  dine  at  home. "  —  "  Madam,  (said  I,)  his  respect  for 
you  is  such,  that  I  know  he  will  not  leave  you,  unless  you  absolutely 
desire  it.  But  as  you  have  so  much  of  his  company,  I  hope  you  will 
be  good  enough  to  forego  it  for  a  day :  as  Mr.  Dilly  is  a  very  worthy 
man,  has  frequently  had  agreeable  parties  at  his  house  for  Dr. 
Johnson,  and  will  be  vexed  if  the  Doctor  neglects  him  to-day. 
And  then,  Madam,  be  pleased  to  consider  my  situation ;  I  carried 
the  message,  and  I  assured  Mr.  Dilly  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  to 
come,  and  no  doubt  he  has  made  a  dinner,  and  invited  a  company, 
and  boasted  of  the  honour  he  expected  to  have.  I  shall  be  quite 


THE  MEETING  OF  DR.   JOHNSON   AND   WILKES     265 

disgraced  if  the  Doctor  is  not  there."  She  gradually  softened  to 
my  solicitations,  which  were  certainly  as  earnest  as  most  entreaties 
to  ladies.upon  any  occasion,  and  was  graciously  pleased  to  empower 
me  to  tell  Dr.  Johnson,  "  That  all  things  considered,  she  thought 
he  should  certainly  go."  I  flew  back  to  him,  still  in  dust,  and 
careless  of  what  should  be  the  event,  "indifferent  in  his  choice  to 
go  or  stay;  "  but  as  soon  as  I  had  announced  to  him  Mrs.  Williams's 
consent,  he  roared,  "  Frank,  a  clean  shirt, "  and  was  very  soon  drest. 
When  I  had  him  fairly  seated  in  a  hackney-coach  with  me,  I  exulted 
as  much  as  a  fortune-hunter  who  has  got  an  heiress  into  a  post- 
chaise  with  him  to  set  out  for  Gretna-Green. 

When  we  entered  Mr.  Dilly's  drawing-room,  he  found  himself  in 
the  midst  of  a  company  he  did  not  know.  I  kept  myself  snug  and 
silent,  watching  how  he  would  conduct  himself.  I  observed  him 
whispering  to  Mr.  Dilly,  "Who  is  that  gentleman,  sir?" — "  Mr. 
Arthur  Lee." — JOHNSON.  "  Too,  too,  too,"  (under  his  breath,) 
which  was  one  of  his  habitual  mutterings.  Mr.  Arthur  Lee  could 
not  but  be  very  obnoxious  to  Johnson,  for  he  was  a  not  only  a  patriot, 
but  an  American.  He  was  afterwards  minister  from  the  United 
States  at  the  court  of  Madrid.  "  And  who  is  the  gentleman  in  lace  ?  " 
— "Mr  Wilkes,  Sir."  This  information  confounded  him  still 
more ;  he  had  some  difficulty  to  restrain  himself,  and  taking  up  a 
book,  sat  down  upon  a  window-seat  and  read,  or  at  least  kept  his 
eye  upon  it  intently  for  some  time,  till  he  composed  himself.  His 
feelings,  I  dare  say,  were  aukward  enough.  But  he  no  doubt 
recollected  his  having  rated  me  for  supposing  that  he  could  be  at 
all  disconcerted  by  any  company,  and  he,  therefore,  resolutely  set 
himself  to  behave  quite  as  an  easy  man  of  the  world,  who  could 
adapt  himself  at  once  to  the  disposition  and  manners  of  those  whom 
he  might  chance  to  meet. 

The  cheering  sound  of  "Dinner  is  upon  the  table,"  dissolved 
his  reverie,  and  we  all  sat  down  without  any  sympton  of  ill  humour. 
There  were  present,  beside  Mr.  Wilkes,  and  Mr.  Arthur  Lee,  who 
was  an  old  companion  of  mine  when  he  studied  physick  at  Edin- 
burgh, Mr.  (now  Sir  John)  Miller,  Dr.  Lettsom,  and  Mr.  Slater, 
the  druggist.  Mr.  Wilkes  placed  himself  next  to  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  behaved  to  him  with  so  much  attention  and  politeness,  that  he 
gained  upon  him  insensibly.  No  man  eat  more  heartily  than 


266  JAMES   BO  SWELL 

Johnson,  or  loved  better  what  was  nice  and  delicate.  Mr.  Wilkes 
was  very  assiduous  in  helping  him  to  some  fine  veal.  "  Pray  give 
me  leave,  Sir ;  —  It  is  better  here  —  A  little  of  the  brown—  *  Some  fat, 
Sir  —  A  little  of  the  stuffing  —  Some  gravy  —  Let  me  have  the 
pleasure  of  giving  you  some  butter  —  Allow  me  to  recommend  a 
squeeze  of  this  orange;  — or  the  lemon,  perhaps,  may  have  more 
zest. " — "  Sir,  Sir,  I  am  obliged  to  you,  Sir, "  cried  Johnson,  bowing, 
and  turning  his  head  to  him  with  a  look  for  some  time  of  "  surly 
virtue, "  l  but,  in  a  short  while,  of  complacency. 

Foote  being  mentioned,  Johnson  said,"  He  is  not  a  good  mimick. " 
One  of  the  company  added,  "A  merry  Andrew,  a  buffoon." 
JOHNSON.  "  But  he  has  wit  too,  and  is  not  deficient  in  ideas,  or  in 
fertility  and  variety  of  imagery,  and  not  empty  of  reading;  he 
has  knowledge  enough  to  fill  up  his  part.  One  species  of  wit  he 
has  in  an  eminent  degree,  that  of  escape.  You  drive  him  into  a 
corner  with  both  hands ;  but  he's  gone,  Sir,  when  you  think  you 
have  got  him  —  like  an  animal  that  jumps  over  your  head.  Then 
he  has  a  great  range  for  wit ;  he  never  lets  truth  stand  between  him 
and  a  jest,  and  he  is  sometimes  mighty  coarse.  Garrick  is  under 
many  restraints  from  which  Foote  is  free. "  WILKES.  "  Garrick's 
wit  is  more  like  Lord  Chesterfield's. "  JOHNSON.  "  The  first  time  I 
was  in  company  with  Foote  was  at  Fitzherbert's.  Having  no  good 
opinion  of  the  fellow,  I  was  resolved  not  to  be  pleased ;  and  it  is  very 
difficult  to  please  a  man  against  his  will.  I  went  on  eating  my  dinner 
pretty  sullenly,  affecting  not  to  mind  him.  But  the  dog  was  so 
very  comical,  that  I  was  obliged  to  lay  down  my  knife  and  fork, 
throw  myself  back  upon  my  chair,  and  fairly  laugh  it  out.  No, 
Sir,  he  was  irresistible.2  He  upon  one  occasion  experienced,  in  an 
extraordinary  degree,  the  efficacy  of  his  powers  of  entertaining. 
Amongst  the  many  and  various  modes  which  he  tried  of  getting 
money,  he  became  a  partner  with  a  small-beer  brewer,  and  he  was 
to  have  a  share  of  the  profits  for  procuring  customers  amongst  his 
numerous  acquaintance.  Fitzherbert  was  one  who  took  his  small- 
beer;  but  it  was  so  bad  that  the  servants  resolved  not  to  drink  it. 
They  were  at  some  loss  how  to  notify  their  resolution,  being  afraid 
of  offending  their  master,  who  they  knew  liked  Foote  much  as  a 

1  Johnson's  "London,  a  Poem,"  v.  145. 

2  Foote  told  me,  that  Johnson  said  of  him,  "For  loud  obstreperous  broad- 
faced  mirth  I  know  not  his  equal."  —  B. 


THE  MEETING  OF  DR.   JOHNSON   AND    WILKES     267 

companion.  At  last  they  fixed  upon  a  little  black  boy,  who  was 
rather  a  favourite,  to  be  their  deputy,  and  deliver  their  remonstrance ; 
and  having  invested  him  with  the  whole  authority  of  the  kitchen,  he 
was  to  inform  Mr.  Fitzherbert,  in  all  their  names,  upon  a  certain 
day,  that  they  would  drink  Foote's  small-beer  no  longer.  On 
that  day  Foote  happened  to  dine  at  Fitzherbert's,  and  this  boy 
served  at  table;  he  was  so  delighted  with  Foote's  stories,  and 
merriment,  and  grimace,  that  when  he  went  down  stairs,  he 
told  them,  '  This  is  the  finest  man  I  have  ever  seen.  I  will  not 
deliver  your  message.  I  will  drink  his  small-beer.'" 

Somebody  observed  that  Garrick  could  not  have  done  this. 
WILKES.  "  Garrick  would  have  made  the  small-beer  still  smaller. 
He  is  now  leaving  the  stage;  but  he  will  play  Scrub  all  his  life." 
I  knew  that  Johnson  would  let  nobody  attack  Garrick  but  him- 
self, as  Garrick  once  said  to  me,  and  I  had  heard  him  praise  his 
liberality;  so  to  bring  out  his  commendation  of  his  celebrated 
pupil,  I  said,  loudly,  "I  have  heard  Garrick  is  liberal."  JOHN- 
SON. "Yes,  Sir,  I  know  that  Garrick  has  given  away  more 
money  than  any  man  in  England  that  I  am  acquainted  with,  and 
that  not  from  ostentatious  views.  Garrick  was  very  poor  when 
he  began  life ;  so  when  he  came  to  have  money,  he  probably  was 
very  unskilful  in  giving  away,  and  saved  when  he  should  not. 
But  Garrick  began  to  be  liberal  as  soon  as  he  could;  and  I  am 
of  opinion,  the  reputation  of  avarice  which  he  has  had,  has  been 
very  lucky  for  him,  and  prevented  his  having  many  enemies. 
You  despise  a  man  for  avarice,  but  do  not  hate  him.  Garrick 
might  have  been  much  better  attacked  for  living  with  more  splen- 
dour than  is  suitable  to  a  player:  if  they  had  had  the  wit  to  have 
assaulted  him  in  that  quarter,  they  might  have  galled  him  more. 
But  they  have  kept  clamouring  about  his  avarice,  which  has 
rescued  him  from  much  obloquy  and  envy." 

Talking  of  the  great  difficulty  of  obtaining  authentick  infor- 
mation for  biography,  Johnson  told  us,  "When  I  was  a  young 
fellow  I  wanted  to  write  the  Life  of  Dryden  and  in  order  to 
get  materials,  I  applied  to  the  only  two  persons  then  alive  who 
had  seen  him ;  these  were  old  Swinney  l  and  old  Gibber.  Swin- 

1  [Owen  M'Swinney,  who  died  in  1745,  and  bequeathed  his  fortune  to  Mrs. 
Woffington,  the  actress.  He  had  been  a  Manager  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  and 


268  JAMES  BOSWELL 

ney's  information  was  no  more  than  this,  'That  at  Will's  coffee- 
house Dryden  had  a  particular  chair  for  himself,  which  was  set 
by  the  fire  in  winter,  and  was  then  called  his  winter-chair;  and 
that  it  was  carried  out  for  him  to  the  balcony  in  summer,  and 
was  then  called  his  summer-chair.'  Gibber  could  tell  no  more 
but  'That  he  remembered  him  a  decent  old  man,  arbiter  of  critical 
disputes  at  Will's.'  You  are  to  consider  that  Gibber  was  then 
at  a  great  distance  from  Dryden,  had  perhaps  one  leg  only  in 
the  room,  and  durst  not  draw  in  the  other."  BOSWELL.  "Yet 
Gibber  was  a  man  of  observation  ?  "  JOHNSON.  "I  think  not." 
BOSWELL.  "You  will  allow  his  Apology  to  be  well  done." 
JOHNSON.  "Very  well  done,  to  be  sure,  Sir.  That  book  is 
a  striking  proof  of  the  justice  of  Pope's  remark: 

'Each  might  his  several  province  well  command, 
Would  all  but  stoop  to  what  they  understand.'  " 

BOSWELL.  "And  his  plays  are  good."  JOHNSON.  "Yes;  but 
that  was  his  trade;  V esprit  du  corps;  he  had  been  all  his  life 
among  players  and  play-writers.  I  wondered  that  he  had  so 
little  to  say  in  conversation,  for  he  had  kept  the  best  company, 
and  learnt  all  that  can  be  got  by  the  ear.  He  abused  Pindar  to 
me,  and  then  shewed  me  an  ode  of  his  own,  with  an  absurd 
couplet,  making  a  linnet  soar  on  an  eagle's  wing.  I  told  him  that 
when  the  ancients  made  a  simile,  they  always  made  it  like  some- 
thing real." 

Mr.  Wilkes  remarked,  that  "among  all  the  bold  flights  of 
Shakspeare's  imagination,  the  boldest  was  making  Birnam- 
wood  march  to  Dunsinane;  creating  a  wood  where  there  never 
was  a  shrub;  a  wood  in  Scotland!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  And  he 
also  observed,  that  "the  clannish  slavery  of  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland  was  the  single  exception  to  Milton's  remark  of  'The 
Mountain  Nymph,  sweet  Liberty/  being  worshipped  in  all  hilly 
countries."  —  "When  I  was  at  Inverary  (said  he), on  a  visit  to  my 
old  friend  Archibald,  Duke  of  Argyle,  his  dependents  congrat- 
ulated me  on  being  such  a  favourite  of  his  Grace.  I  said,  'It 

afterwards  of  the  Queen's  Theatre  in  the  Haymarket.  He  was  also  a  dramatic 
writer,  having  produced  a  comedy  entitled  —  "The  Quack's,  or  Love's  the  Physi- 
cian," 1705,  and  two  operas.  —  M.] 


THE  MEETING  OF  DR.   JOHNSON   AND   WILKES     269 

is  then,  gentlemen,  truly  lucky  for  me;  for  if  I  had  displeased 
the  Duke,  and  he  had  wished  it,  there  is  not  a  Campbell  among 
you  but  would  have  been  ready  to  bring  John  Wilkes's  head  to 
him  in  a  charger.  It  would  have  been  only 

'Off  with  his  head!   so  much  for  Aylesbury.' 

I  was  then  member  for  Aylesbury." 

Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkes  talked  of  the  contested  passage 
in  Horace's  Art  of  poetry,  "Difficile  est  proprie  communia  dicer  e" 
Mr.  Wilkes,  according  to  my  note,  gave  the  interpretation  thus: 
"It  is  difficult  to  speak  with  propriety  of  common  things;  as,  if 
a  poet  had  to  speak  of  Queen  Caroline  drinking  tea,  he  must 
endeavour  to  avoid  the  vulgarity  of  cups  and  saucers."  But 
upon  reading  my  note,  he  tells  me  that  he  meant  to  say,  that 
"the  word  communia,  being  a  Roman  law-term,  signifies  here 
things  communis  juris,  that  is  to  say,  what  have  never  yet  been 
treated  by  any  body;  and  this  appears  clearly  from  what  followed, 

Tuque 


Rectius  Iliacum  carmen  deducis  in  actus 
Quam  si  proferres  ignota  indictaque  primus.' 

You  will  easier  make  a  tragedy  out  of  the  Iliad  than  on  any 
subject  not  handled  before."  JOHNSON.  "He  means  that  it 
is  difficult  to  appropriate  to  particular  persons  qualities  which 
are  common  to  all  mankind,  as  Homer  has  done." 

WILKES.  "We  have  no  City-Poet  now:  that  is  an  office 
which  has  gone  into  disuse.  The  last  was  Elkanah  Settle.  There 
is  something  in  names  which  one  cannot  help  feeling.  Now 
Elkanah  Settle  sounds  so  queer,  who  can  expect  much  from  that 
name  ?  We  should  have  no  hesitation  to  give  it  for  John  Dryden, 
in  preference  to  Elkanah  Settle,  from  the  names  only,  without 
knowing  their  different  merits."  JOHNSON.  "I  suppose,  Sir, 
Settle  did  as  well  for  Aldermen  in  his  time,  as  John  Home  could 
do  now.  Where  did  Beckford  and  Trecothick  learn  English  ?" 

Mr.  Arthur  Lee  mentioned  some  Scotch  who  had  taken  pos- 
session of  a  barren  part  of  America,  and  wondered  why  they 
should  choose  it.  JOHNSON.  "Why,  Sir,  all  barrenness  is 
comparative.  The  Scotch  would  not  know  it  to  be  barren." 


270  JAMES   BOS  WELL 

BOSWELL.  "Come,  come,  he  is  flattering  the  English.  You  have 
now  been  in  Scotland,  Sir,  and  say  if  you  did  not  see  meat  and 
drink  enough  there."  JOHNSON.  "Why  yes,  Sir;  meat  and 
drink  enough  to  give  the  inhabitants  sufficient  strength  to  run 
away  from  home."  All  these  quick  and  lively  sallies  were  said 
sportively,  quite  in  jest,  and  with  a  smile,  which  showed  that 
he  meant  only  wit.  Upon  this  topick  he  and  Mr.  Wilkes  could 
perfectly  assimilate;  here  was  a  bond  of  union  between  them, 
and  I  was  conscious  that  as  both  of  them  had  visited  Caledonia, 
both  were  fully  satisfied  of  the  strange  narrow  ignorance  of  those 
who  imagine  that  it  is  a  land  of  famine.  But  they  amused  them- 
selves with  persevering  in  the  old  jokes.  When  I  claimed  a 
superiority  for  Scotland  over  England  in  one  respect,  that  no 
man  can  be  arrested  there  for  a  debt  merely  because  another 
swears  it  against  him;  but  there  must  first  be  the  judgment  of 
a  court  of  law  ascertaining  its  justice ;  and  that  a  seizure  of  the 
person,  before  judgment  is  obtained,  can  take  place  only,  if  his 
creditor  should  swear  that  he  is  about  to  fly  from  the  country, 
or,  as  it  is  technically  expressed,  is  in  meditatione  fugce :  WILKES. 
"That,  I  thould  think,  may  be  safely  sworn  of  all  the  Scotch 
nation."  JOHNSON.  (To  Mr.  Wilkes)  "You  must  know,  Sir, 
I  lately  took  my  friend  Boswell,  and  shewed  him  genuine  civil- 
ized life  in  an  English  provincial  town.  I  turned  him  loose  at 
Lichfield,  my  native  city,  that  he  might  see  for  once  real  civility : 
for  you  know  he  lives  among  savages  in  Scotland,  and  among 
rakes  in  London."  WILKES.  "Except  when  he  is  with  grave, 
sober,  decent  people,  like  you  and  me."  JOHNSON,  (smiling) 
"And  we  ashamed  of  him." 

They  were  quite  frank  and  easy.  Johnson  told  the  story  of 
his  asking  Mrs.  Macaulay  to  allow  her  footman  to  sit  down  with 
them,  to  prove  the  ridiculousness  of  the  arguments  for  the  equality 
of  mankind;  and  he  said  to  me  afterwards,  with  a  nod  of  sat- 
isfaction, "You  saw  Mr.  Wilkes  acquiesced."  Wilkes  talked 
with  all  imaginable  freedom  of  the  ludicrous  title  given  to  the 
Attorney-General,  Diabolus  Regis;  adding,  "I  have  reason  to 
know  something  about  that  officer;  for  I  was  prosecuted  for  a 
libel."  Johnson,  who  many  people  would  have  supposed  must 
have  been  furiously  angry  at  hearing  this  talked  of  so  lightly,  said 


THE  MEETING  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  AND   WILKES     271 

not  a  word.     He  was  now,  indeed,  "a  good-humoured  fellow." 

After  dinner  we  had  an  accession  of  Mrs.  Knowles,  the  Quaker 
lady,  well  known  for  her  various  talents,  and  of  Mr.  Alderman 
Lee.  Amidst  some  patriotick  groans,  somebody  (I  think  the 
Alderman)  said,  "Poor  old  England  is  lost."  JOHNSON.  "Sir, 
it  is  not  so  much  to  be  lamented  that  old  England  is  lost,  as  that 
the  Scotch  have  found  it."1  WILKES.  "Had  Lord  Bute  gov- 
erned Scotland  only,  I  should  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  write 
his  eulogy,  and  dedicate  Mortimer  to  him." 

Mr.  Wilkes  held  a  candle  to  shew  a  fine  print  of  a  beautiful 
female  figure  which  hung  in  the  room,  and  pointed  out  the  elegant 
contour  of  the  bosom  with  the  finger  of  an  arch  connoisseur. 
He  afterwards,  in  a  conversation  with  me,  waggishly  insisted,  that 
all  the  time  Johnson  shewed  visible  signs  of  a  fervent  admiration 
of  the  corresponding  charms  of  the  fair  Quaker. 

This  record,  though  by  no  means  so  perfect  as  I  could  wish, 
will  serve  to  give  a  notion  of  a  very  curious  interview,  which 
was  not  only  pleasing  at  the  time,  but  had  the  agreeable  and 
benignant  effect  of  reconciling  any  animosity,  and  sweetening 
any  acidity,  which,  in  the  various  bustle  of  political  contest,  had 
been  produced  in  the  minds  of  two  men,  who  though  widely 
different,  had  so  many  things  in  common  —  classical  learning, 
modern  literature,  wit  and  humour,  and  ready  repartee  —  that 
it  would  have  been  much  to  be  regretted  if  they  had  been  for 
ever  at  a  distance  from  each  other. 

Mr.  Burke  gave  me  much  credit  for  this  successful  negotia- 
tion; and  pleasantly  said,  that  "there  was  nothing  equal  to  it 
in  the  whole  history  of  the  Corps  Diplomatique" 

I  attended  Dr.  Johnson  home,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to 
hear  him  tell  Mrs.  Williams  how  much  he  had  been  pleased 
with  Mr.  Wilkes's  company,  and  what  an  agreeable  day  he  had 
passed. 

1  It  would  not  become  me  to  expatiate  on  this  strong  and  pointed  remark,  in 
which  a  very  geat  deal  of  meaning  is  condensed.  —  B. 


272  ROBERT  SOUTHEY 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY 

THE  DEATH  OF  NELSON 

[From  The  Life  of  Horatio,  Lord  Nelson,  Chap.  ix.  1813.     John  Murray, 

London. 

"Though  in  general  we  prefer  Mr.  Southey's  poetry  to  his  prose,  we  must 
make  one  exception.  The  Life  of  Nelson  is,  beyond  all  doubt,  the  most  per- 
fect and  the  most  delightful  of  his  works.  The  fact  is,  as  his  poems  most 
abundantly  prove,  that  he  is  by  no  means  so  skilful  in  designing  as  in  rilling 
up.  It  was  therefore  an  advantage  to  him  to  be  furnished  with  an  outline 
of  characters  and  events,  and  to  have  no  other  task  to  perform  than  that  of 
touching  the  cold  sketch  into  life.  No  writer,  perhaps,  ever  lived,  whose 
talents  so  precisely  qualified  him  to  write  the  history  of  the  great  naval  war- 
rior. There  were  no  fine  riddles  of  the  human  heart  to  read,  no  theories  to 
propound,  no  hidden  causes  to  develop,  no  remote  consequences  to  predict. 
The  character  of  the  hero  lay  on  the  surface.  The  exploits  were  brilliant 
and  picturesque.  The  necessity  of  adhering  to  the  real  course  of  events 
saved  Mr.  Southey  from  those  faults  which  deform  the  original  plan  of 
almost  every  one  of  his  poems,  and  which  even  his  innumerable  beauties  of 
detail  scarcely  redeem.  The  s'ubject  did  not  require  the  exercise  of  those 
reasoning  powers  the  want  of  which  is  the  blemish  of  his  prose.  It  would 
not  be  easy  to  find,  in  all  literary  history,  an  instance  of  a  more  exact  hit 
between  wind  and  water."  —  THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACATJLAY,  "  Southey's 
Colloquies,"  1830,  in  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays.] 

At  daybreak  the  combined  fleets  1  were  distinctly  seen  from 
the  Victory's2  deck,  formed  in  a  close  line  of  battle  ahead,  on 
the  starboard  tack,  about  twelve  miles  to  leeward,  and  standing  to 
the  south.  Our  fleet  consisted  of  twenty-seven  sail  of  the  line 
and  four  frigates ;  theirs  of  thirty-three,  and  seven  large  frigates. 
Their  superiority  was  greater  in  size,  and  weight  of  metal,  than  in 
numbers.  They  had  four  thousand  troops  on  board;  and  the 
best  riflemen  who  could  be  procured,  many  of  them  Tyrolese, 
were  dispersed  through  the  ships.  Little  did  the  Tyrolese,  and 
little  did  the  Spaniards,  at  that  day,  imagine  what  Jiorrors  the 
wicked  tyrant  whom  they  served  was  preparing  for  their  country ! 

Soon  after  daylight  Nelson  came  upon  deck.  The  2ist  of 
October3  was  a  festival  in  his  family;  because  on  that  day  his 
uncle,  Captain  Suckling,  in  the  Dreadnought,  with  two  other 
line  of  battle  ships,  had  beaten  off  a  French  squadron  of  four 
sail  of  the  line  and  three  frigates.  Nelson,  with  that  sort  of 
1  French  and  Spanish.  2  Nelson's  flagship.  3  1805. 


THE  DEATH  OF  NELSON  273 

superstition  from  which  few  persons  are  entirely  exempt,  had 
more  than  once  expressed  his  persuasion  that  this  was  to  be 
the  day  of  his  battle  also;  and  he  was  well  pleased  at  seeing  his 
prediction  about  to  be  verified.  The  wind  was  now  from  the 
west,  —  light  breezes,  with  a  long  heavy  swell.  Signal  was  made 
to  bear  down  upon  the  enemy  in  two  lines;  and  the  fleet  set  all 
sail.  Collingwood,  in  the  Royal  Sovereign,  led  the  lee-line  of 
thirteen  ships;  the  Victory  led  the  weather-line  of  fourteen.  Hav- 
ing seen  that  all  was  as  it  should  be,  Nelson  retired  to  his  cabin, 
and  wrote  this  prayer :  — 

'May  the  Great  God,  whom  I  worship,  grant  to  my  country, 
and  for  the  benefit  of  Europe  in  general,  a  great  and  glorious 
victory;  and  may  no  misconduct  in  any  one  tarnish  it;  and  may 
humanity  after  victory  be  the  predominant  feature  in  the  British 
fleet !  For  myself  individually,  I  commit  my  life  to  Him  that 
made  me,  and  may  His  blessing  alight  on  my  endeavours  for 
serving  my  country  faithfully!  To  Him  I  resign  myself,  and 
the  just  cause  which  is  intrusted  to  me  to  defend.  Amen,  Amen, 
Amen.' 

******* 

Blackwood  went  on  board  the  Victory  about  six.  He  found 
him  in  good  spirits,  but  very  calm;  not  in  that  exhilaration  which 
he  had  felt  upon  entering  into  battle  at  Aboukir  and  Copen- 
hagen ;  he  knew  that  his  own  life  would  be  particularly  aimed  at, 
and  seems  to  have  looked  for  death  with  almost  as  sure  an  expec- 
tation as  for  victory.  His  whole  attention  was  fixed  upon  the 
enemy.  They  tacked  to  the  northward,  and  formed  their 
line  on  the  larboard  tack;  thus  bringing  the  shoals  of  Trafalgar 
and  St.  Pedro  under  the  lee  of  the  British,  and  keeping  the  port 
of  Cadiz  open  for  themselves.  This  was  judiciously  done:  and 
Nelson,  aware  of  all  the  advantages  which  it  gave  them,  made 
signal  to  prepare  to  anchor. 

Villeneuve l  was  a  skilful  seaman ;  worthy  of  serving  a  better 
master  and  a  better  cause.  His  plan  of  defence  was  as  well  con- 
ceived, and  as  original,  as  the  plan  of  attack.  He  formed  the 
fleet  in  a  double  line,  every  alternate  ship  being  about  a  cable's 

1  The  French  admiral. 


274  ROBERT  SOU  THEY 

length  to  windward  of  her  second  ahead  and  astern.  Nelson, 
certain  of  a  triumphant  issue  to  the  day,  asked  Blackwood  what 
he  should  consider  as  a  victory.  That  officer  answered,  that 
considering  the  handsome  way  in  which  battle  was  offered 
by  the  enemy,  their  apparent  determination  for  a  fair  trial  of 
strength,  and  the  situation  of  the  land,  he  thought  it  would  be 
a  glorious  result  if  fourteen  were  captured.  He  replied :  '  I  shall 
not  be  satisfied  with  less  than  twenty.'  Soon  afterwards  he 
asked  him  if  he  did  not  think  there  was  a  signal  wanting.  Cap- 
tain Blackwood  made  answer  that  he  thought  the  whole  fleet 
seemed  very  clearly  to  understand  what  they  were  about.  These 
words  were  scarcely  spoken  before  that  signal  was  made,  which 
will  be  remembered  as  long  as  the  language,  or  even  the  memory, 
of  England  shall  endure  —  Nelson's  last  signal :  —  '  England 
expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty ! '  It  was  received  throughout 
the  fleet  with  a  shout  of  answering  acclamation,  made  sublime 
by  the  spirit  which  it  breathed  and  the  feeling  which  it  expressed. 
'Now,'  said  Lord  Nelson,  'I  can  do  no  more.  We  must  trust 
to  the  Great  Disposer  of  all  events,  and  the  justice  of  our  cause. 
I  thank  God  for  this  great  opportunity  of  doing  my  duty.' 

He  wore  that  day,  as  usual,  his  admiral's  frock  coat,  bearing  on 
the  left  breast  four  stars  of  the  different  orders  with  which  he 
was  invested.  Ornaments  which  rendered  him  so  conspicuous 
a  mark  for  the  enemy,  were  beheld  with  ominous  apprehensions 
by  his  officers.  It  was  known  that  there  were  riflemen  on  board 
the  French  ships,  and  it  could  not  be  doubted  but  that  his  life 
would  be  particularly  aimed  at.  They  communicated  their 
fears  to  each  other;  and  the  surgeon,  Mr.  Beatty,  spoke  to  the 
chaplain,  Dr.  Scott,  and  to  Mr.  Scott,  the  public  secretary,  desir- 
ing that  some  person  would  entreat  him  to  change  his  dress,  or 
cover  the  stars :  but  they  knew  that  such  a  request  would  highly 
displease  him.  'In  honour  I  gained  them,'  he  had  said  when 
such  a  thing  had  been  hinted  to  him  formerly,  'and  in  honour 
I  will  die  with  them.'  Mr.  Beatty,  however,  would  not  have 
been  deterred  by  any  fear  of  exciting  his  displeasure,  from  speak- 
ing to  him  himself  upon  a  subject  in  which  the  weal  of  England 
as  well  as  the  life  of  Nelson  was  concerned,  but  he  was  or- 
dered from  the  deck  before  he  could  find  an  opportunity.  This 


THE  DEATH  OF  NELSON  275 

was  a  point  upon  which  Nelson's  officers  knew  that  it  was  hopeless 
to  remonstrate  or  reason  with  him;  but  both  Blackwood,  and 
his  own  captain,  Hardy,  represented  to  him  how  advantageous 
to  the  fleet  it  would  be  for  him  to  keep  out  of  action  as  long  as 
possible;  and  he  consented  at  last  to  let  the  Leviathan  and  the 
Temeraire,  which  were  sailing  abreast  of  the  Victory,  be  ordered 
to  pass  ahead.  Yet  even  here  the  last  infirmity  of  this  noble 
mind  was  indulged ;  for  these  ships  could  not  pass  ahead  if  the 
Victory  continued  to  carry  all  her  sail;  and  so  far  was  Nelson 
from  shortening  sail,  that  it  was  evident  he  took  pleasure  in  press- 
ing on,  and  rendering  it  impossible  for  them  to  obey  his  own 
orders.  A  long  swell  was  setting  into  the  Bay  of  Cadiz:  our 
ships,  crowding  all  sail,  moved  majestically  before  it,  with  light 
winds  from  the  south-west.  The  sun  shone  on  the  sails  of  the 
enemy;  and  their  well-formed  line,  with  their  numerous  three- 
deckers,  made  an  appearance  which  any  other  assailants  would 
have  thought  formidable;  but  the  British  sailors  only  admired 
the  beauty  and  the  splendour  of  the  spectacle;  and,  in  full  con- 
fidence of  winning  what  they  saw,  remarked  to  each  other,  what 
a  fine  sight  yonder  ships  would  make  at  Spithead ! 

The  French  admiral,  from  the  Bucentaure,  beheld  the  new 
manner  in  which  his  enemy  was  advancing,  Nelson  and  Colling- 
wood  each  leading  his  line;  and,  pointing  them  out  to  his  offi- 
cers, he  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  that  such  conduct  could  not 
fail  to  be  successful.  Yet  Villeneuve  had  made  his  own  dispo- 
sitions with  the  utmost  skill,  and  the  fleets  under  his  command 
waited  for  the  attack  with  perfect  coolness.  Ten  minutes  before 
twelve  they  opened  their  fire.  Eight  or  nine  of  the  ships  imme- 
diately ahead  of  the  Victory,  and  across  her  bows,  fired  single 
guns  at  her,  to  ascertain  whether  she  was  yet  within  their  range. 
As  soon  as  Nelson  perceived  that  their  shot  passed  over  him, 
he  desired  Blackwood,  and  Captain  Prowse,  of  the  Sirius,  to  re- 
pair to  their  respective  frigates;  and,  on  their  way,  to  tell  all 
the  captains  of  the  line  of  battle  ships  that  he  depended  on  their 
exertions;  and  that,  if  by  the  prescribed  mode  of  attack  they 
found  it  impracticable  to  get  into  action,  immediately,  they  might 
adopt  whatever  they  thought  best,  provided  it  led  them  quickly 
and  closely  alongside  an  enemy.  As  they  were  standing  on  the 


276  ROBERT  SOUTH EY 

front  of  the  poop,  Blackwood  took  him  by  the  hand,  saying, 
he  hoped  soon  to  return  and  find  him  in  possession  of  twenty 
prizes.  He  replied:  'God  bless  you,  Blackwood!  I  shall  never 
see  you  again.' 

Nelson's  column  was  steered  about  two  points  more  to  the 
north  than  Collingwood's,  in  order  to  cut  off  the  enemy's  escape 
into  Cadiz:  the  lee-line,  therefore,  was  first  engaged.  'See,' 
cried  Nelson,  pointing  to  the  Royal  Sovereign,  as  she  steered 
right  for  the  centre  of  the  enemy's  line,  cut  through  it  astern  of 
the' Santa  Anna,  three-decker,  and  engaged  her  at  the  muzzle  of 
her  guns  on  the  starboard  side:  'see  how  that  noble  fellow, 
Collingwood,  carries  his  ship  into  action ! '  Collingwood,  de- 
lighted at  being  first  in  the  heat  of  the  fire,  and  knowing  the 
feelings  of  his  commander  and  old  friend,  turned  to  his  captain, 
and  exclaimed,  'Rotherham,  what  would  Nelson  give  to  be  here !' 
Both  these  brave  officers,  perhaps,  at  this  moment  thought  of 
Nelson  with  gratitude,  for  a  circumstance  which  had  occurred 
on  the  preceding  day.  Admiral  Collingwood,  with  some  of  the 
captains,  having  gone  on  board  the  Victory  to  receive  instructions, 
Nelson  inquired  of  him  where  his  captain  was?  and  was  told, 
in  reply,  that  they  were  not  upon  good  terms  with  each  other. 
'Terms  !'  said  Nelson;  —  'good  terms  with  each  other !'  Imme- 
diately he  sent  a  boat  for  Captain  Rotherham;  led  him,  as  soon 
as  he  arrived,  to  Collingwood,  and  saying,  'Look,  yonder  are 
the  enemy!'  bade  them  'shake  hands  like  Englishmen.' 

The  enemy  continued  to  fire  a  gun  at  a  time  at  the  Victory, 
till  they  saw  that  a  shot  had  passed  through  her  main-topgallant- 
sail;  then  they  opened  their  broadsides,  aiming  chiefly  at  her 
rigging,  in  the  hope  of  disabling  her  before  she  could  close  with 
them.  Nelson,  as  usual,  had  hoisted  several  flags,  lest  one  should 
be  shot  away.  The  enemy  showed  no  colours  till  late  in  the 
action,  when  they  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of  having  them  to 
strike.  For  this  reason,  the  Santissima  Trinidad,  Nelson's  old 
acquaintance,  as  he  used  to  call  her,  was  distinguishable  only  by 
her  four  decks;  and  to  the  bow  of  this  opponent  he  ordered  the 
Victory  to  be  steered.  Meantime  an  incessant  raking  fire  was 
kept  up  upon  the  Victory.  The  admiral's  secretary  was  one  of 
the  first  who  fell :  he  was  killed  by  a  cannon-shot,  while  convers- 


THE  DEATH  OF  NELSON  277 

ing  with  Hardy.  Captain  Adair,  of  the  marines,  with  the  help 
of  a  sailor,  endeavoured  to  remove  the  body  from  Nelson's  sight, 
who  had  a  great  regard  for  Mr.  Scott;  but  he  anxiously  asked, 
'Is  that  poor  Scott  that's  gone?'  and  being  informed  that  it  was 
indeed  so,  exclaimed,  'Poor  fellow!'  Presently  a  double-headed 
shot  struck  a  party  of  marines,  who  were  drawn  up  on  the  poop, 
and  killed  eight  of  them :  upon  which  Nelson  immediately  desired 
Captain  Adair  to  disperse  his  men  round  the  ship,  that  they 
might  not  suffer  so  much  from  being  together.  A  few  minutes 
afterwards  a  shot  struck  the  fore  brace  bits  on  the  quarter-deck, 
and  passed  between  Nelson  and  Hardy,  a  splinter  from  the  bit 
tearing  off  Hardy's  buckle  and  bruising  his  foot.  Both  stopped, 
and  looked  anxiously  at  each  other,  each  supposing  the  other  to 
be  wounded.  Nelson  then  smiled,  and  said,  'This  is  too  warm 
work,  Hardy,  to  last  long.' 

The  Victory  had  not  yet  returned  a  single  gun:  fifty  of  her 
men  had  been  by  this  time  killed  or  wounded,  and  her  main- 
topmast,  with  all  her  studding  sails  and  their  booms,  shot  away. 
Nelson  declared  that,  in  all  his  battles,  he  had  seen  nothing 
which  surpassed  the  cool  courage  of  his  crew  on  this  occasion. 
At  four  minutes  after  twelve  she  opened  her  fire  from  both  sides 
of  her  deck.  It  was  not  possible  to  break  the  enemy's  line  without 
running  on  board  one  of  their  ships :  Hardy  informed  him  of  this, 
and  asked  which  he  would  prefer.  Nelson  replied:  'Take  your 
choice,  Hardy,  it  does  not  signify  much.'  The  master  was  then 
ordered  to  put  the  helm  to  port,  and  the  Victory  ran  on  board 
the  Redoubtable,  just  as  her  tiller  ropes  were  shot  away.  The 
French  ship  received  her  with  a  broadside;  then  instantly  let 
down  her  lower-deck  ports,  for  fear  of  being  boarded  through 
them,  and  never  afterwards  fired  a  great  gun  during  the  action. 
Her  tops,  like  those  of  all  the  enemy's  ships,  were  filled  with 
riflemen.  Nelson  never  placed  musketry  in  his  tops;  he  had 
a  strong  dislike  to  the  practice,  not  merely  because  it  endangers 
setting  fire  to  the  sails,  but  also  because  it  is  a  murderous  sort  of 
warfare,  by  which  individuals  may  suffer,  and  a  commander,  now 
and  then,  be  picked  off,  but  which  never  can  decide  the  fate 
of  a  general  engagement. 

Captain  Harvey,  in  the  Temeraire,  fell  on  board  the  Redoubtable 


278  ROBERT  SOUTHEY 

on  the  other  side.  Another  enemy  was  in  like  manner  on  board  the 
Temeraire:  so  that  these  four  ships  formed  as  compact  a  tier  as  if 
they  had  been  moored  together,  their  heads  lying  all  the  same  way. 
The  lieutenants  of  the  Victory,  seeing  this,  depressed  their  guns 
of  the  middle  and  lower  decks,  and  fired  with  a  diminished  charge, 
lest  the  shot  should  pass  through,  and  injure  the  Temeraire.  And 
because  there  was  danger  that  the  Redoubtable  might  take  fire  from 
the  lower-deck  guns,  the  muzzles  of  which  touched  her  side  when 
they  were  run  out,  the  fireman  of  each  gun  stood  ready  with  a 
bucket  of  water,  which,  as  soon  as  the  gun  was  discharged,  he 
dashed  into  the  hole  made  by  the  shot.  An  incessant  fire  was  kept 
,up  from  the  Victory  from  both  sides;  her  larboard  guns  playing 
upon  the  Bucentaure  and  the  huge  Santissima  Trinidad. 

It  had  been  part  of  Nelson's  prayer  that  the  British  fleet  might 
be  distinguished  by  humanity  in  the  victory  which  he  expected. 
Setting  an  example  himself,  he  twice  gave  orders  to  cease  firing 
upon  the  Redoubtable,  supposing  that  she  had  struck,  because 
her  great  guns  were  silent ;  for,  as  she  carried  no  flag,  there  was  no 
means  of  instantly  ascertaining  the  fact.  From  this  ship,  which  he 
had  thus  twice  spared,  he  received  his  death.  A  ball  fired  from 
her  mizzen-top,  which,  in  the  then  situation  of  the  two  vessels, 
was  not  more  than  fifteen  yards  from  that  part  of  the  deck  where 
he  was  standing,  struck  the  epaulette  on  his  left  shoulder, —  about 
a  quarter  after  one,  just  in  the  heat  of  the  action.  He  fell  upon  his 
face,  on  the  spot  which  was  covered  with  his  poor  secretary's  blood. 
Hardy,  who  was  a  few  steps  from  him,  turning  round,  saw  three 
men  raising  him  up.  'They  have  done  for  me  at  last,  Hardy,'  said 
he.  'I  hope  not!'  cried  Hardy.  'Yes,'  he  replied;  'my  back 
bone  is  shot  through.'  Yet  even  now,  not  for  a  moment  losing  his 
presence  of  mind,  he  observed,  as  they  were  carrying  him  down 
the  ladder,  that  the  tiller  ropes,  which  had  been  shot  away,  were 
not  yet  replaced,  and  ordered  that  new  ones  should  be  rove  imme- 
diately:—  then,  that  he  might  not  be  seen  by  the  crew,  he 
took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  covered  his  face  and  his  stars.  — 
Had  he  but  concealed  these  badges  of  honour  from  the  enemy, 
England,  perhaps,  would  not  have  had  cause  to  receive  with 
sorrow  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Trafalgar. 

The  cockpit  was  crowded  with  wounded  and  dying  men,  over 


THE  DEATH  OF  NELSON  279 

whose  bodies  he  was  with  some  difficulty  conveyed,  and  laid  upon 
a  pallet  in  the  midshipmen's  berth.  It  was  soon  perceived,  upon 
examination,  that  the  wound  was  mortal.  This,  however,  was 
concealed  from  all,  except  Captain  Hardy,  the  chaplain,  and 
the  medical  attendants.  He  himself  being  certain,  from  the  sensa- 
tion in  his  back,  and  the  gush  of  blood  which  he  felt  momently 
within  his  breast,  that  no  human  care  could  avail  him,  insisted  that 
the  surgeon  should  leave  him,  and  attend  to  those  to  whom  he 
might  be  useful :  ' For,'  said  he,  'you  can  do  nothing  for  me.'  All 
that  could  be  done  was  to  fan  him  with  paper,  and  frequently 
to  give  him  lemonade,  to  alleviate  his  intense  thirst.  He  was  in 
great  pain,  and  expressed  much  anxiety  for  the  event  of  the  action, 
which  now  began  to  declare  itself.  As  often  as  a  ship  struck  the 
crew  of  the  Victory  hurraed ;  and  at  every  hurra  a  visible  expression 
of  joy  gleamed  in  the  eyes,  and  marked  the  countenance,  of  the 
dying  hero.  But  he  became  impatient  to  see  Captain  Hardy; 
and  as  that  officer,  though  often  sent  for,  could  not  leave  the  deck, 
Nelson  feared  that  some  fatal  cause  prevented  him,  and  repeatedly 
cried:  'Will  no  one  bring  Hardy  to  me?  He  must  be  killed! 
He  is  surely  dead ! '  —  An  hour  and  ten  minutes  elapsed,  from  the 
time  when  Nelson  received  his  wound,  before  Hardy  could  come 
to  him.  They  shook  hands  in  silence ;  Hardy  in  vain  struggling  to 
suppress  the  feelings  of  that  most  painful,  and  yet  sublimest  mo- 
ment. 'Well,  Hardy,'  said  Nelson,  'how  goes  the  day  with  us?' 
—  'Very  well,'  replied  Hardy;  'ten  ships  have  struck,  but  five 
of  their  van  have  tacked,  and  show  an  intention  of  bearing  down 
upon  the  Victory.  I  have  called  two  or  three  of  our  fresh  ships 
round,  and  have  no  doubt  of  giving  them  a  drubbing.'  —  'I  hope,' 
said  Nelson,  '  none  of  our  ships  have  struck  ? '  Hardy  answered, 
'There  was  no  fear  of  that.'  Then,  and  not  till  then,  Nelson 
spoke  of  himself.  'I  am  a  dead  man,  Hardy,'  said  he;  'I  am 
going  fast :  —  it  will  be  all  over  with  me  soon.  Come  nearer  to  me. 
Let  my  dear  Lady  Hamilton  have  my  hair,  and  all  other  things 
belonging  to  me.'  Hardy  observed,  that  he  hoped  Mr.  Beatty 
could  yet  hold  out  some  prospect  of  life.  '  Oh  no ! '  he  replied ;  '  it 
is  impossible.  My  back  is  shot  through.  Beatty  will  tell  you  so.' 
Captain  Hardy  then,  once  more,  shook  hands  with  him;  and,  with 
a  heart  almost  bursting,  hastened  upon  deck. 


280  ROBERT  SOUTHEY 

By  this  time  all  feeling  below  the  breast  was  gone,  and  Nelson, 
having  made  the  surgeon  ascertain  this,  said  to  him:  'You  know 
I  am  gone.  I  know  it.  I  feel  something  rising  in  my  breast '  — 
putting  his  hand  on  his  left  side  —  'which  tells  me  so.'  And  upon 
Beatty's  inquiring  whether  his  pain  was  very  great?  he  replied, 
'So  great,  that  he  wished  he  was  dead.  Yet,'  said  he,  in  a  lower 
voice,  '  one  would  like  to  live  a  little  longer  too ! '  And  after  a  few 
minutes,  in  the  same  under-tone,  he  added :  '  What  would  become 
of  poor  Lady  Hamilton  if  she  knew  my  situation ! '  Next  to  his 
country  she  occupied  his  thoughts.  Captain  Hardy,  some  fifty 
minutes  after  he  had  left  the  cockpit,  returned ;  and,  again  taking 
the  hand  of  his  dying  friend  and  commander,  congratulated  him 
on  having  gained  a  complete  victory.  How  many  of  the  enemy 
were  taken  he  did  not  know,  as  it  was  impossible  to  perceive  them 
distinctly  —  but  fourteen  or  fifteen  at  least.  'That's  well,'  cried 
Nelson;  'but  I  bargained  for  twenty.'  And  then,  in  a  stronger 
voice,  he  said,  'Anchor,  Hardy;  anchor.'  Hardy,  upon  this, 
hinted  that  Admiral  Collingwood  would  take  upon  himself  the 
direction  of  affairs.  'Not  while  I  live,  Hardy!'  said  the  dying 
Nelson,  ineffectually  endeavouring  to  raise  himself  from  the  bed : 
'do  you  anchor.'  His  previous  order  for  preparing  to  anchor 
had  shown  how  clearly  he  foresaw  the  necessity  of  this.  Presently, 
calling  Hardy  back,  he  said  to  him,  in  a  low  voice, '  Don't  throw  me 
overboard ' ;  and  he  desired  that  he  might  be  buried  by  his  parents, 
unless  it  should  please  the  king  to  order  otherwise.  Then,  re- 
verting to  private  feelings :  '  Take  care  of  my  dear  Lady  Hamilton, 
Hardy;  take  care  of  poor  Lady  Hamilton.  —  Kiss  me,  Hardy,' 
said  he.  Hardy  knelt  down,  and  kissed  his  cheek :  and  Nelson 
said,  '  Now  I  am  satisfied.  Thank  God,  I  have  done  my  duty.' 
Hardy  stood  over  him  in  silence  for  a  moment  or  two,  then 
knelt  again,  and  kissed  his  forehead.  'Who  is  that?'  said 
Nelson;  and  being  informed,  he  replied,  'God  bless  you,  Hardy.' 
And  Hardy  then  left  him  —  for  ever. 

Nelson  now  desired  to  be  turned  upon  his  right  side,  and  said: 
'I  wish  I  had  not  left  the  deck ;  for  I  shall  soon  be  gone.'  Death 
was,  indeed,  rapidly  approaching.  He  said  to  the  chaplain: 
'Doctor,  I  have  not  been  a  great  sinner' ;  and,  after  a  short  pause, 
'Remember  that  I  leave  Lady  Hamilton,  and  my  daughter  Horatia, 


THE  DEATH  OF  NELSON  281 

as  a  legacy  to  my  country.'  His  articulation  now  became  difficult ; 
but  he  was  distinctly  heard  to  say,  'Thank  God,  I  have  done  my 
duty ! '  These  words  he  had  repeatedly  pronounced ;  and  they 
were  the  last  words  he  uttered.  He  expired  at  thirty  minutes  after 
four,  —  three  hours  and  a  quarter  after  he  had  received  his  wound. 


JOHN  GIBSON  LOCKHART 

THE  DEATH  OF  SCOTT 

[From  Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.,  Vol.  VII,  Chap.  xi. 
1837-1838.  Robert  Cadell,  Edinburgh. 

"Of  the  literary  merits  of  the  '  Life  of  Scott '  it  is  not  possible  for  one  whose 
breviary,  as  it  were,  the  book  has  been  from  boyhood,  to  speak  with  impar- 
tiality. To  a  Scot,  and  a  Scot  of  the  Border,  the  book  has  the  charm  of 
home,  and  is  dear  to  us  as  his  own  grey  hills  were  dear  to  Sir  Walter.  Nec- 
essarily, inevitably,  the  stranger  cannot,  or  seldom  can,  share  this  sentiment. 
Mr.  Saintsbury,  now  in  some  degree  a  Scot  by  adoption,  has,  indeed,  placed 
the  book  beside  or  above  Boswell's.  That  is  a  length  to  which  I  cannot  go; 
for  Boswell's  hero  appears  to  myself  to  be  of  a  character  more  universally 
human,  a  wiser  man,  a  greater  humourist,  his  biography  a  more  valuable 
possession,  than  Sir  Walter  and  Sir  Walter's  '  Life.'  But  it  were  childish 
to  dispute  about  the  relative  merits  of  two  chefs-d'ceuvre.  Each  work  is 
perfect  in  its  kind,  and  in  relation  to  its  subject.  The  self-repression  of 
Lockhart,  accompanied  by  his  total  lack  of  self-consciousness  (so  astonishing 
in  so  shy  a  man),  when  his  own  person  has  to  figure  on  the  scene,  is  as  valu- 
able as  the  very  opposite  quality  in  Boswell. 

"  Later  writers,  Thackeray,  Macaulay,  Mr.  Ruskin,  Mr.  Carlyle,  Mr. 
Louis  Stevenson,  Mr.  Pater,  have  given  examples  of  styles  more  personal, 
infinitely  more  conspicuous,  than  Lockhart's;  to  many,  doubtless  to  most 
readers,  more  taking.  Lockhart  has  no  mannerisms,  no  affectations,  no 
privy  jargon,  no  confidences  with  the  reader;  but  it  may  almost  be  said 
that  he  has  no  faults.  His  English  is  like  the  English  of  Swift,  all  the  light 
is  concentrated  on  the  object.  Without  disparagement  of  the  great  or  pleas- 
ing authors  already  named;  with  every  acknowledgment  of  the  charming 
or  the  astonishing  qualities  of  their  various  manners,  we  must  also  claim  a 
place,  and  a  high  place,  for  the  style  of  Lockhart.  He  wrote  English."  — 
ANDREW  LANG,  The  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Gibson  Lockhart,  Vol.  II,  pp. 
122-124.  John  C.  Nimmo,  London,  1897.] 

He  reached  London  about  six  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  Wednes- 
day the  1 3th  of  June.  Owing  to  the  unexpected  rapidity  of  the 
journey,  his  eldest  daughter  had  had  no  notice  when  to  expect 
him ;  and  fearful  of  finding  her  either  out  of  town,  or  unprepared 


282  JOHN   GIBSON   LOCKHART 

to  receive  him  and  his  attendants  under  her  roof,  Charles  Scott 
drove  to  the  St.  James's  Hotel  in  Jermyn  Street,  and  established 
his  quarters  there  before  he  set  out  in  quest  of  his  sister  and  myself. 
When  we  reached  the  hotel,  he  recognised  us  with  many  marks  of 
tenderness,  but  signified  that  he  was  totally  exhausted;  so  no  at- 
tempt was  made  to  remove  him  further,  and  he  was  put  to  bed 
immediately.  Dr.  Fergusson  saw  him  the  same  night,  and  next 
day  Sir  Henry  Half ord  and  Dr.  Holland  saw  him  also ;  and  during 
the  next  three  weeks  the  two  latter  visited  him  daily,  while  Fergus- 
son  was  scarcely  absent  from  his  pillow.  The  Major  was  soon  on 
the  spot.  To  his  children,  all  assembled  once  more  about  him, 
he  repeatedly  gave  his  blessing  in  a  very  solemn  manner,  as  if 
expecting  immediate  death ;  but  he  was  never  in  a  condition  for 
conversation,  and  sunk  either  into  sleep  or  delirious  stupor  upon 
the  slightest  effort. 

Mrs.  Thomas  Scott  came  to  town  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his 
arrival,  and  remained  to  help  us.  She  was  more  than  once 
recognised  and  thanked.  Mr.  Gadell,  too,  arrived  from  Edinburgh, 
to  render  any  assistance  in  his  power.  I  think  Sir  Walter  saw 
no  other  of  his  friends  except  Mr.  John  Richardson,  and  him  only 
once.  As  usual,  he  woke  up  at  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice, 
and  made  an  attempt  to  put  forth  his  hand,  but  it  dropped  power- 
less, and  he  said,  with  a  smile  —  "Excuse  my  hand."  Richard- 
son made  a  struggle  to  suppress  his  emotion,  and,  after  a  moment, 
got  out  something  about  Abbotsford  and  the  woods,  which  he  had 
happened  to  see  shortly  before.  The  eye  brightened,  and  he  said 
—  "How  does  Kirklands  get  on?"  Mr.  Richardson  had  lately 
purchased  the  estate  so  called  in  Teviotdale,  and  Sir  Walter 
had  left  him  busied  with  plans  of  building.  His  friend  told  him 
that  his  new  house  was  begun,  and  that  the  Marquis  of  Lothian  had 
very  kindly  lent  him  one  of  his  own,  meantime,  in  its  vicinity. 
"Ay,  Lord  Lothian  is  a  good  man,"  said  Sir  Walter;  "he  is  a  man 
from  whom  one  may  receive  a  favour,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal 
for  any  man  in  these  days."  The  stupor  then  sank  back  upon  him, 
and  Richardson  never  heard  his  voice  again.  This  state  of  things 
continued  till  the  beginning  of  July. 

During  these  melancholy  weeks,  great  interest  and  sympathy 
were  manifested.  Allan  Cunningham  mentions  that,  walking 


THE  DEATH  OF  SCOTT  283 

home  late  one  night,  he  found  several  workingmen  standing  to-, 
gether  at  the  corner  of  Jermyn  Street,  and  one  of  them  asked  him  — 
as  if  there  was  but  one  deathbed  in  London  —  "Do  you  know,  sir, 
if  this  is  the  street  where  he  is  lying?"  The  inquiries  both  at  the 
hotel  and  at  my  house  were  incessant ;  and  I  think  there  was  hardly 
a  member  of  the  royal  family  who  did  not  send  every  day.  The 
newspapers  teemed  with  paragraphs  about  Sir  Walter ;  and  one  of 
these,  it  appears,  threw  out  a  suggestion  that  his  travels  had 
exhausted  his  pecuniary  resources,  and  that  if  he  were  capable  of 
reflection  at  all,  cares  of  that  sort  might  probably  harass  his  pillow. 
This  paragraph  came  from  a  very  ill-informed,  but,  I  dare  say, 
a  well-meaning  quarter.  It  caught  the  attention  of  some  members 
of  the  Government ;  and,  in  consequence,  I  received  a  private  com- 
munication, to  the  effect  that,  if  the  case  were  as  stated,  Sir  Walter's 
family  had  only  to  say  what  sum  would  relieve  him  from  embarrass- 
ment, and  it  would  be  immediately  advanced  by  the  Treasury. 
The  then  Paymaster  of  the  Forces,  Lord  John  Russell,  had  the 
delicacy  to  convey  this  message  through  a  lady  with  whose  friend- 
ship he  knew  us  to  be  honoured  —  the  Honourable  Catherine 
Arden.  We  expressed  our  grateful  sense  of  his  politeness,  and  of 
the  liberality  of  the  Government,  and  I  now  beg  leave  to  do  so  once 
more ;  —  but  his  lordship  was  of  course  informed  that  Sir  Walter 
Scott  was  not  situated  as  the  journalist  had  represented. 

Dr.  Fergusson's  Memorandum  on  Jermyn  Street  will  be  accept- 
able to  the  reader.  He  says  —  "  When  I  saw  Sir  Walter,  he  was 
lying  in  the  second  floor  back-room  of  the  St.  James's  Hotel,  in 
a  state  of  stupor,  from  which,  however,  he  could  be  roused  for  a 
moment  by  being  addressed,  and  then  he  recognised  those  about 
him,  but  immediately  relapsed.  I  think  I  never  saw  anything  more 
magnificent  than  the  symmetry  of  his  colossal  bust,  as  he  lay  on 
the  pillow  with  his  chest  and  neck  exposed.  During  the  time  he 
was  in  Jermyn  Street  he  was  calm  but  never  collected,  and  in 
general  either  in  absolute  stupor  or  in  a  waking  dream.  He  never 
seemed  to  know  where  he  was,  but  imagined  himself  to  be  still  in 
the  steam-boat.  The  rattling  of  carriages,  and  the  noises  of  the 
street,  sometimes  disturbed  this  illusion — and  then  he  fancied  him- 
self at  the  polling-booth  of  Jedburgh,  where  he  had  been  insulted 
and  stoned.  During  the  whole  of  this  period  of  apparent  helpless- 


284  JOHN   GIBSON  LOCKHART 

ness,  the  great  features  of  his  character  could  not  be  mistaken. 
He  always  exhibited  great  self-possession,  and  acted  his  part  with 
wonderful  power  whenever  visited,  though  he  relapsed  the  next 
moment  into  the  stupor  from  which  strange  voices  had  roused  him. 
A  gentleman  [Mr.  Richardson]  stumbled  over  a  chair  in  his  dark 
room;  —  he  immediately  started  up,  and  though  unconscious  that 
it  was  a  friend,  expressed  as  much  concern  and  feeling  as  if  he 
had  never  been  labouring  under  the  irritability  of  disease.  It 
was  impossible  even  for  those  who  most  constantly  saw  and  waited 
on  him  in  his  then  deplorable  condition  to  relax  from  the  habitual 
deference  which  he  had  always  inspired.  He  expressed  his  will 
as  determinedly  as  ever,  and  enforced  it  with  the  same  apt  and 
good-natured  irony  as  he  was  wont  to  use. 

"At  length  his  constant  yearning  to  return  to  Abbotsford  in- 
duced his  physicians  to  consent  to  his  removal;  and  the  moment 
this  was  notified  to  him,  it  seemed  to  infuse  new  vigour  into  his 
frame.  It  was  on  a  calm,  clear  afternoon  of  the  7th  July,  that 
every  preparation  was  made  for  his  embarkation  on  board  the 
steam-boat.  He  was  placed  on  a  chair  by  his  faithful  servant 
Nicolson,  half-dressed,  and  loosely  wrapped  in  a  quilted  dressing- 
gown.  He  requested  Lockhart  and  myself  to  wheel  him  towards 
the  light  of  the  open  window,  and  we  both  remarked  the  vigorous 
lustre  of  his  eye.  He  sat  there  silently  gazing  on  space  for  more 
than  half  an  hour,  apparently  wholly  occupied  with  his  own 
thoughts,  and  having  no  distinct  perception  of  where  he  was,  or 
how  he  came  there.  He  suffered  himself  to  be  lifted  into  his 
carriage,  which  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd,  among  whom  were 
many  gentlemen  on  horseback,  who  had  loitered  about  to  gaze 
on  the  scene.  His  children  were  deeply  affected,  and  Mrs.  Lock- 
hart  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  wept  bitterly.  Thus  sur- 
rounded by  those  nearest  to  him,  he  alone  was  unconscious  of  the 
cause  or  the  depth  of  their  grief,  and  while  yet  alive  seemed  to  be 
carried  to  his  grave." 

On  this  his  last  journey,  Sir  Walter  was  attended  by  his  two 
daughters,  Mr.  Cadell,  and  myself  —  and  also  by  Dr.  Thomas 
Watson,  who  (it  being  impossible  for  Dr.  Fergusson  to  leave  town 
at  that  moment)  kindly  undertook  to  see  him  safe  at  Abbotsford. 
We  embarked  in  the  James  Watt  steam-boat,  the  master  of  which 


THE  DEATH   OF  SCOTT  285 

(Captain  John  Jamieson),  as  well  as  the  agents  of  the  proprietors, 
made  every  arrangement  in  their  power  for  the  convenience  of  the 
invalid.  The  Captain  gave  up  for  Sir  Walter's  use  his  own  private 
cabin,  which  was  a  separate  erection  —  a  sort  of  cottage  on  the 
deck;  and  he  seemed  unconscious,  after  being  laid  in  bed  there, 
that  any  new  removal  had  occurred.  On  arriving  at  Newhaven, 
late  on  the  gth,  we  found  careful  preparations  made  for  his  landing 
by  the  manager  of  the  Shipping  Company  (Mr.  Hamilton)  —  and 
Sir  Walter,  prostrate  in  his  carriage,  was  slung  on  shore,  and 
conveyed  from  thence  to  Douglas's  hotel,  in  St.  Andrew's  Square, 
in  the  same  complete  apparent  unconsciousness.  Mrs.  Douglas 
had  in  former  days  been  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch's  housekeeper  at 
Bowhill,  and  she  and  her  husband  had  also  made  the  most  suitable 
provision. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  morning  of  Wednesday  the  nth, 
we  again  placed  him  in  his  carriage,  and  he  lay  in  the  same  torpid 
state  during  the  first  two  stages  on  the  road  to  Tweedside.  But  as 
we  descended  the  vale  of  the  Gala  he  began  to  gaze  about  him,  and 
by  degrees  it  was  obvious  that  he  was  recognising  the  features  of 
that  familiar  landscape.  Presently  he  murmured  a  name  or  two 
-"Gala  Water,  surely  —  Buckholm  —  Torwoodlee."  As  we 
rounded  the  hill  at  Ladhope,  and  the  outline  of  the  Eildons  burst 
on  him,  he  became  greatly  excited ;  and  when,  turning  himself  on 
the  couch,  his  eye  caught  at  length  his  own  towers  at  the  distance 
of  a  mile,  he  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  delight.  The  river  being  in 
flood,  we  had  to  go  round  a  few  miles  by  Melrose  bridge;  and 
during  the  time  this  occupied,  his  woods  and  house  being  within 
prospect,  it  required  occasionally  both  Dr.  Watson's  strength  and 
mine,  in  addition  to  Nicolson's,  to  keep  him  in  the  carriage.  After 
passing  the  bridge,  the  road  for  a  couple  of  miles  loses  sight  of 
Abbotsford,  and  he  relapsed  into  his  stupor;  but  on  gaining  the 
bank  immediately  above  it,  his  excitement  became  again  un- 
governable. 

Mr.  Laidlaw  was  waiting  at  the  porch,  and  assisted  us  in  lifting 
him  into  the  dining-room,  where  his  bed  had  been  prepared.  He 
sat  bewildered  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  resting  his  eye  on 
Laidlaw,  said  —  "Ha !  Willie  Laidlaw !  O  man,  how  often  have 
I  thought  of  you!"  By  this  time  his  dogs  had  assembled  about 


286  JOHN  GIBSON  LOCKHART 

his  chair  —  they  began  to  fawn  upon  him  and  lick  his  hands,  and 
he  alternately  sobbed  and  smiled  over  them,  until  sleep  oppressed 
him. 

Dr.  Watson  having  consulted  on  all  things  with  Mr.  Clarkson 
of  Melrose  and  his  father,  the  good  old  " Country  Surgeon"  of 
Selkirk,  resigned  the  patient  to  them,  and  returned  to  London. 
None  of  them  could  have  any  hope  but  that  of  soothing  irritation. 
Recovery  was  no  longer  to  be  thought  of:  but  there  might  be 
Euthanasia. 

And  yet  something  like  a  ray  of  hope  did  break  in  upon  us  next 
morning.  Sir  Walter  awoke  perfectly  conscious  where  he  was,  and 
expressed  an  ardent  wish  to  be  carried  out  into  his  garden.  We 
procured  a  Bath  chair  from  Huntley  Burn,  and  Laidlaw  and  I 
wheeled  him  out  before  his  door,  and  up  and  down  for  some  time 
on  the  turf,  and  among  the  rose-beds  then  in  full  bloom.  The 
grand-children  admired  the  new  vehicle,  and  would  be  helping  in 
their  way  to  push  it  about.  He  sat  in  silence,  smiling  placidly 
on  them  and  the  dogs  their  companions,  and  now  and  then  ad- 
miring the  house,  the  screen  of  the  garden,  and  the  flowers  and 
trees.  By  and  by  he  conversed  a  little,  very  composedly,  with  us  — 
said  he  was  happy  to  be  at  home  —  that  he  felt  better  than  he  had 
ever  done  since  he  left  it,  and  would  perhaps  disappoint  the 
doctors  after  all.  He  then  desired  to  be  wheeled  through  his 
rooms,  and  we  moved  him  leisurely  for  an  hour  or  more  up  and 
down  the  hall  and  the  great  library:  —  "I  have  seen  much,"  he 
kept  saying,  "but  nothing  like  my  ain  house  — give  me  one  turn 
more !"  He  was  gentle  as  an  infant,  and  allowed  himself  to  be 
put  to  bed  again  the  moment  we  told  him  that  we  thought  he 
had  had  enough  for  one  day. 

Next  morning  he  was  still  better.  After  again  enjoying  the 
Bath  chair  for  perhaps  a  couple  of  hours  out  of  doors,  he  desired 
to  be  drawn  into  the  library,  and  placed  by  the  central  window, 
that  he  might  look  down  upon  the  Tweed.  Here  he  expressed 
a  wish  that  I  should  read  to  him,  and  when  I  asked  from  what  book, 
he  said  —  "Need  you  ask  ?  There  is  but  one."  I  chose  the  i4th 
chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel;  he  listened  with  mild  devotion,  and 
said  when  I  had  done  —  "Well,  this  is  a  great  comfort  —  I  have 
followed  you  distinctly,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were  yet  to  be  myself 


THE  DEATH  OF  SCOTT  287 

again."     In  this  placid  frame  he  was  again  put  to  bed,  and  had 
many  hours  of  soft  slumber. 

On  the  third  day  Mr.  Laidlaw  and  I  again  wheeled  him  about 
the  small  piece  of  lawn  and  shrubbery  in  front  of  the  house  for 
some  time ;  and  the  weather  being  delightful,  and  all  the  richness  of 
summer  around  him,  he  seemed  to  taste  fully  the  balmy  influences 
of  nature.  The  sun  getting  very  strong,  we  halted  the  chair  in 
a  shady  corner,  just  within  the  verge  of  his  verdant  arcade  around 
the  court-wall;  and  breathing  the  coolness  of  the  spot,  he  said, 
"Read  me  some  amusing  thing  —  read  me  a  bit  of  Crabbe."  I 
brought  out  the  first  volume  of  his  old  favourite  that  I  could  lay 
hand  on,  and  turned  to  what  I  remembered  as  one  of  his  most 
favourite  passages  in  it  —  the  description  of  the  arrival  of 
the  Players  in  the  Borough.  He  listened  with  great  interest, 
and  also,  as  I  soon  perceived,  with  great  curiosity.  Every 
now  and  then  he  exclaimed,  "Capital  — excellent  —  very 
good  —  Crabbe  has  lost  nothing"  —  and  we  were  too  well 
satisfied  that  he  considered  himself  as  hearing  a  new  pro- 
duction, when,  chuckling  over  one  couplet,  he  said,  "Better 
and  better  —  but  how  will  poor  Terry1  endure  these  cuts?"  I 
went  on  with  the  poet's  terrible  sarcasms  upon  the  theatrical  life, 
and  he  listened  eagerly,  muttering,  "Honest  Dan!"  —  "Dan 
won't  like  this."  At  length  I  reached  those  lines  — 

"Sad  happy  race!   soon  raised,  and  soon  depressed, 
Your  days  all  passed  in  jeopardy  and  jest; 
Poor  without  prudence,  with  afflictions  vain, 
Not  warned  by  misery,  nor  enriched  by  gain." 

"Shut  the  book,"  said  Sir  Walter  —  "I  can't  stand  more  of  this  — 
it  will  touch  Terry  to  the  very  quick." 

On  the  morning  of  Sunday  the  i5th,  he  was  again  taken  out  into 
the  little  pleasaunce,  and  got  as  far  as  his  favourite  terrace-walk 
between  the  garden  and  the  river,  from  which  he  seemed  to  survey 
the  valley  and  the  hills  with  much  satisfaction.  On  re-entering 
the  house,  he  desired  me  to  read  to  him  from  the  New  Testament, 
and  after  that  he  again  called  for  a  little  of  Crabbe ;  but  whatever 
I  selected  from  that  poet  seemed  to  be  listened  to  as  if  it  made  part 

1  Daniel  Terry,  an  actor,  and  friend  of  Scott. 


288  JOHN   GIBSON   LOCKHART 

of  some  new  volume  published  while  he  was  in  Italy.  He  at- 
tended with  this  sense  of  novelty  even  to  the  tale  of  Phoebe  Dawson, 
which  not  many  months  before  he  could  have  repeated  every  line 
of,  and  which  I  chose  for  one  of  these  readings,  because,  as  is 
known  to  every  one,  it  had  formed  the  last  solace  of  Mr.  Fox's 
deathbed.  On  the  contrary,  his  recollection  of  whatever  I  read 
from  the  Bible  appeared  to  be  lively;  and  in  the  afternoon,  when 
we  made  his  grandson,  a  child  of  six  years,  repeat  some  of  Dr.  Watts' 
hymns  by  his  chair,  he  seemed  also  to  remember  them  perfectly. 
That  evening  he  heard  the  Church  service,  and  when  I  was  about 
to  close  the  book,  said  —  "  Why  do  you  omit  the  visitation  for  the 
sick  ?  "  —  which  I  added  accordingly. 

On  Monday  he  remained  in  bed,  and  seemed  extremely  feeble ; 
but  after  breakfast  on  Tuesday  the  zyth  he  appeared  revived  some- 
what, and  was  again  wheeled  about  on  the  turf.  Presently  he  fell 
asleep  in  his  chair,  and  after  dozing  for  perhaps  half  an  hour, 
started  awake,  and  shaking  the  plaids  we  had  put  about  him  from  off 
his  shoulders,  said  —  "This  is  sad  idleness.  I  shall  forget  what  I 
have  been  thinking  of,  if  I  don't  set  it  down  now.  Take  me  into 
my  own  room,  and  fetch  the  keys  of  my  desk."  He  repeated  this 
so  earnestly,  that  we  could  not  refuse ;  his  daughters  went  into  his 
study,  opened  his  writing-desk,  and  laid  paper  and  pens  in  the 
usual  order,  and  I  then  moved  him  through  the  hall  and  into  the 
spot  where  he  had  always  been  accustomed  to  work.  When  the 
chair  was  placed  at  the  desk,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  old  posi- 
tion, he  smiled  and  thanked  us,  and  said  —  "Now  give  me  my  pen, 
and  leave  me  for  a  little  to  myself."  Sophia  put  the  pen  into  his 
hand,  and  he  endeavoured  to  close  his  fingers  upon  it,  but  they 
refused  their  office  —  it  dropped  on  the  paper.  He  sank  back 
among  his  pillows,  silent  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks ;  but  com- 
posing himself  by  and  by,  motioned  to  me  to  wheel  him  out  of  doors 
again.  Laidlaw  met  us  at  the  porch,  and  took  his  turn  of  the 
chair.  Sir  Walter,  after  a  little  while,  again  dropped  into  slumber. 
When  he  was  awaking,  Laidlaw  said  to  me  —  "Sir  Walter  has  had 
a  little  repose."  — "No  Willie,"  said  he  — "no  repose  for  Sir 
Walter  but  in  the  grave."  The  tears  again  rushed  from  his  eyes. 
"Friends,"  said  he,  "don't  let  me  expose  myself  —  get  me  to  bed  — 
that's  the  only  place." 


THE  DEATH  OF  SCOTT  289 

With  this  scene  ended  our  glimpse  of  daylight.  Sir  Walter  never, 
I  think,  left  his  room  afterwards,  and  hardly  his  bed,  except  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  the  middle  of  the  day ;  and  after  another  week 
he  was  unable  even  for  this.  During  a  few  days  he  was  in  a  state 
of  painful  irritation  —  and  I  saw  realised  all  that  he  had  himself 
prefigured  in  his  description  of  the  meeting  between  Chrystal 
Croftangry  and  his  paralytic  friend.  Dr.  Ross  came  out  from 
Edinburgh,  bringing  with  him  his  wife,  one  of  the  dearest  nieces  of 
the  Clerks'  table.  Sir  Walter  with  some  difficulty  recognised  the 
Doctor;  but  on  hearing  Mrs.  Ross's  voice,  exclaimed  at  once  — 
"  Isn't  that  Kate  Hume  ?  "  These  kind  friends  remained  for  two 
or  three  days  with  us.  Clarkson's  lancet  was  pronounced  neces- 
sary, and  the  relief  it  afforded  was,  I  am  happy  to  say,  very 
effectual. 

After  this  he  declined  daily,  but  still  there  was  great  strength  to 
be  wasted,  and  the  process  was  long.  He  seemed,  however,  to 
suffer  no  bodily  pain ;  and  his  mind,  though  hopelessly  obscured, 
appeared,  when  there  was  any  symptom  of  consciousness,  to  be 
dwelling,  with  rare  exceptions,  on  serious  and  solemn  things ;  the 
accent  of  the  voice  grave,  sometimes  awful,  but  never  querulous, 
and  very  seldom  indicative  of  any  angry  or  resentful  thoughts. 
Now  and  then  he  imagined  himself  to  be  administering  justice 
as  Sheriff;  and  once  or  twice  he  seemed  to  be  ordering  Tom 
Purdie  about  trees.  A  few  times  also,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  we  could 
perceive  that  his  fancy  was  at  Jedburgh  —  and  Burk  Sir  Walter 
escaped  him  in  a  melancholy  tone.  But  commonly  whatever  we 
could  follow  him  in  was  a  fragment  of  the  Bible  (especially  the 
Prophecies  of  Isaiah  and  the  Book  of  Job),  of  some  petition 
in  the  litany,  or  a  verse  of  some  psalm  (in  the  old  Scotch  metrical 
version),  or  of  some  of  the  magnificent  hymns  of  the  Romish  ritual, 
in  which  he  had  always  delighted,  but  which  probably  hung  on  his 
memory  now  in  connection  with  the  Church  services  he  had  at- 
tended while  in  Italy.  We  very  often  heard  distinctly  the  cadence 
of  the  Dies  Irce;  and  I  think  the  very  last  stanza  that  we  could  make 
out  was  the  first  of  a  still  greater  favourite :  — 

"Stabat  Mater  dolorosa, 
Juxta  crucem  lachrymosa, 
Dum  pendebat  Filius." 


290  JOHN  GIBSON  LOCKHART 

All  this  time  he  continued  to  recognise  his  daughters,  Laidlaw, 
and  myself,  whenever  we  spoke  to  him  —  and  received  every  at- 
tention with  a  most  touching  thankfulness.  Mr.  Clarkson,  too, 
was  always  saluted  with  the  old  courtesy,  though  the  cloud  opened 
but  a  moment  for  him  to  do  so.  Most  truly  might  it  be  said  that 
the  gentleman  survived  the  genius. 

After  two  or  three  weeks  had  passed  in  this  way,  I  was  obliged 
to  leave  Sir  Walter  for  a  single  day,  and  go  into  Edinburgh  to 
transact  business,  on  his  account,  with  Mr.  Henry  Cockburn 
(now  Lord  Cockburn),  then  Solicitor- General  for  Scotland.  The 
Scotch  Reform  Bill  threw  a  great  burden  of  new  duties  and  re- 
sponsibilities upon  the  Sheriffs ;  and  Scott's  Sheriff-substitute,  the 
Laird  of  Raeburn,  not  having  been  regularly  educated  for  the 
law,  found  himself  unable  to  encounter  these  novelties,  especially 
as  regarded  the  registration  of  voters,  and  other  details  connected 
with  the  recent  enlargement  of  the  electoral  franchise.  Under 
such  circumstances,  as  no  one  but  the  Sheriff  could  appoint  an- 
other substitute,  it  became  necessary  for  Sir  Walter's  family  to 
communicate  the  state  he  was  in  in  a  formal  manner  to  the  Law 
Officers  of  the  Crown;  and  the  Lord  Advocate  (Mr.  Jeffrey),  in 
consequence,  introduced  and  carried  through  Parliament  a  short 
bill  (2  and  3  William  IV.  cap.  101),  authorising  the  Government 
to  appoint  a  new  Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,  " during  the  incapacity 
or  non-resignation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott."  It  was  on  this  bill  that 
the  Solicitor- General  had  expressed  a  wish  to  converse  with  me : 
but  there  was  little  to  be  said,  as  the  temporary  nature  of  the  new 
appointment  gave  no  occasion  for  any  pecuniary  question;  and, 
if  that  had  been  otherwise,  the  circumstances  of  the  case  would 
have  rendered  Sir  Walter's  family  entirely  indifferent  upon  such  a 
subject.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  that  if  he  had  recovered  in  so  far 
as  to  be  capable  of  executing  a  resignation,  the  Government  would 
have  considered  it  just  to  reward  thirty-two  years'  faithful  services 
by  a  retired  allowance  equivalent  to  his  salary  —  and  as  little, 
that  the  Government  would  have  had  sincere  satisfaction  in 
settling  that  matter  in  the  shape  most  acceptable  to  himself.  And 
perhaps  (though  I  feel  that  it  is  scarcely  worth  while)  I  may  as 
well  here  express  my  regret  that  a  statement  highly  unjust  and  in- 
jurious should  have  found  its  way  into  the  pages  of  some  of  Sir 


THE  DEATH   OF  SCOTT 


291 


Walter's  biographers.  These  writers  have  thought  fit  to  insinuate 
that  there  was  a  want  of  courtesy  and  respect  on  the  part  of  the 
Lord  Advocate,  and  the  other  official  persons  connected  with  this 
arrangement.  On  the  contrary,  nothing  could  be  more  hand- 
some and  delicate  than  the  whole  of  their  conduct  in  it;  Mr. 
Cockburn  could  not  have  entered  into  the  case  with  greater  feeling 
and  tenderness,  had  it  concerned  a  brother  of  his  own ;  and  when 
Mr.  Jeffrey  introduced  his  bill  in  the  House  of  Commons,  he  used 
language  so  graceful  and  touching,  that  both  Sir  Robert  Peel  and 
Mr.  Croker  went  across  the  House  to  thank  him  cordially  for  it. 

Perceiving,  towards  the  close  of  August,  that  the  end  was  near, 
and  thinking  it  very  likely  that  Abbotsford  might  soon  undergo 
many  changes,  and  myself,  at  all  events,  never  see  it  again,  I  felt 
a  desire  to  have  some  image  preserved  of  the  interior  apartments 
as  occupied  by  their  founder,  and  invited  from  Edinburgh  for  that 
purpose  Sir  Walter's  dear  friend,  Sir  William  Allan  —  whose 
presence,  I  well  knew,  would  even  under  the  circumstances  of  that 
time  be  nowise  troublesome  to  any  of  the  family,  but  the  contrary 
in  all  respects.  Sir  William  willingly  complied,  and  executed  a 
series  of  beautiful  drawings.  He  also  shared  our  watchings,  and 
witnessed  all  but  the  last  moments.  Sir  Walter's  cousins,  the 
ladies  of  Ashestiel,  came  down  frequently,  for  a  day  or  two  at  a 
time,  and  did  whatever  sisterly  affection  could  prompt,  both  for 
the  sufferer  and  his  daughters.  Miss  Mary  Scott  (daughter  of  his 
uncle  Thomas),  and  Mrs.  Scott  of  Harden,  did  the  like. 

As  I  was  dressing  on  the  morning  of  Monday  the  i;th  of  Sep- 
tember, Nicolson  came  into  my  room,  and  told  me  that  his  master 
had  awoke  in  a  state  of  composure  and  consciousness,  and  wished 
to  see  me  immediately.  I  found  him  entirely  himself,  though 
in  the  last  extreme  of  feebleness.  His  eye  was  clear  and  calm  — 
every  trace  of  the  wild  fire  of  delirium  extinguished.  "Lockhart," 
he  said,  "  I  may  have  but  a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be 
a  good  man  —  be  virtuous  —  be  religious  —  be  a  good  man.  Noth- 
ing else  will  give  you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie  here."  — 
He  paused,  and  I  said  —  "  Shall  I  send  for  Sophia  and  Anne  ?"  — 
"No,"  said  he,  "don't  disturb  them.  Poor  souls!  I  know  they 
were  up  all  night  —  God  bless  you  all."  —  With  this  he  sunk  into  a 
very  tranquil  sleep,  and,  indeed,  he  scarcely  afterwards  gave  any 


292  THOMAS   BABINGTON   MACAU  LAY 

sign  of  consciousness,  except  for  an  instant  on  the  arrival  of  his 
sons. 

They,  on  learning  that  the  scene  was  about  to  close,  obtained 
a  new  leave  of  absence  from  their  posts,  and  both  reached  Abbots- 
ford  on  the  iQth.  About  half-past  one  p.m.  on  the  2ist  of  Septem- 
ber, Sir  Walter  breathed  his  last,  in  the  presence  of  all  his  children. 
It  was  a  beautiful  day  —  so  warm,  that  every  window  was  wide 
open  —  and  so  perfectly  still,  that  the  sound  of  all  others  most 
delicious  to  his  ear,  the  gentle  ripple  of  the  Tweed  over  its  pebbles, 
was  distinctly  audible  as  we  knelt  around  the  bed,  and  his  eldest 
son  kissed  and  closed  his  eyes. 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY 

FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

[From  "Madame  D'Arblay,"  1843,  in  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays. 
Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  London,  1870. 

ARBLAY,  FRANCES  (BURNEY),  MADAME  D'  (1752-1840),  novelist,  daugh- 
ter of  Dr.  Burney;  self-educated;  published  her  first  novel,  'Evelina,' 
anonymously  (though  her  father  soon  divulged  the  secret),  1778;  brought 
by  its  success  to  the  notice  of  most  of  the  literary  personages  of  the  day ; 
published  'Cecilia/  with  similar  success,  1782;  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Mrs.  Delaney,  who  procured  her  the  appointment  of  second  keeper  of  the 
queen's  robes,  1786;  being  broken  in  health,  obtained  with  difficulty  per- 
mission to  retire,  1790;  married  General  d'Arblay,  a  French  refugee  in 
England,  1793;  published  'Camilla,'  1796;  joined  her  husband,  who  had 
endeavoured  to  obtain  employment  in  Paris,  1802;  returned  to  England, 
1812;  published  her  last  novel,  'The  Wanderer,'  1814;  rejoined  her  hus- 
band in  Paris,  and  retired  to  Belgium;  passed  the  rest  of  her  life  in  Eng- 
land, after  the  Waterloo  campaign;  edited  her  father's  'Memoirs,'  1832; 
published  'Diary  and  Letters,'  1842-6. — Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N.  B. 

"A  style  to  dazzle,  to  gain  admirers  everywhere,  to  attract  imitators  in 
multitude!  A  style  brilliant,  metallic,  exterior;  making  strong  points,  al- 
ternating invective  with  eulogy,  wrapping  in  a  robe  of  rhetoric  the  thing  it 
represents;  not,  with  the  soft  play  of  life,  following  and  rendering  the  thing's 
very  form  and  pressure.  For,  indeed,  in  rendering  things  in  this  fashion, 
Macaulay's  gift  did  not  lie."  —  MATTHEW  ARNOLD,  "A  French  Critic  on 
Milton,"  Mixed  Essays,  pp.  237-238.  Macmillan  &  Co.,  New  York,  1879. 

"Shall  we  go  back  to  the  art  of  which  Macaulay  was  so  great  a  master? 
We  could  do  worse.  It  must  be  a  great  art  that  can  make  men  lay  aside  the 
novel  and  take  up  the  history,  to  find  there,  in  very  fact,  the  movement  and 


FANNY   BURNEY   AT  COURT  293 

drama  of  life.  What  Macaulay  does  well  he  does  incomparably.  Who  else 
can  mass  the  details  as  he  does,  and  yet  not  mar  or  obscure,  but  only  heighten, 
the  effect  of  the  picture  as  a  whole  ?  Who  else  can  bring  so  amazing  a  pro- 
fusion of  knowledge  wfthin  the  strait  limits  of  a  simple  plan,  nowhere  en- 
cumbered, everywhere  free  and  obvious  in  its  movement?  How  sure  the 
strokes,  and  how  bold  and  vivid  the  result !  Yet  when  we  have  laid  the 
book  aside,  when  the  charm  and  the  excitement  of  the  telling  narrative  have 
worn  off,  when  we  have  lost  step  with  the  swinging  gait  at  which  the  style 
goes,  when  the  details  have  faded  from  our  recollection,  and  we  sit  removed 
and  thoughtful,  with  only  the  greater  outlines  of  the  story  sharp  upon  our 
minds,  a  deep  misgiving  and  dissatisfaction  take  possession  of  us.  We  are  no 
longer  young,  and  we  are  chagrined  that  we  should  have  been  so  pleased 
and  taken  with  the  glitter  and  color  and  mere  life  of  the  picture."  —  WOOD- 
ROW  WILSON,  Mere  Literature  and  Other  Essays,  pp.  167,  168.  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston,  1896.] 

In  December  1785,  Miss  Burney  was  on  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Delany 
at  Windsor.  The  dinner  was  over.  The  old  lady  was  taking  a  nap. 
Her  grandniece,  a  little  girl  of  seven,  was  playing  at  some  Christmas 
game  with  the  visitors,  when  the  door  opened,  and  a  stout  gentle- 
man entered  unannounced,  with  a  star  on  his  breast,  and  "What? 
what?  what?"  in  his  mouth.  A  cry  of  "The  King!"  was  set  up. 
A  general  scampering  followed.  Miss  Burney  owns  that  she 
could  not  have  been  more  terrified  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost.  But 
Mrs.  Delany  came  forward  to  pay  her  duty  to  her  royal  friend,  and 
the  disturbance  was  quieted.  Frances  was  then  presented, 
and  underwent  a  long  examination  and  cross  examination  about 
all  that  she  had  written  and  all  that  she  meant  to  write.  The 
Queen  soon  made  her  appearance  and  his  Majesty  repeated,  for 
the  benefit  of  his  consort,  the  information  which  he  had  extracted 
from  Miss  Burney.  The  good-nature  of  the  royal  pair  might  have 
softened  even  the  authors  of  the  Probationary  Odes,  and  could 
not  but  be  delightful  to  a  young  lady  who  had  been  brought 
up  a  Tory.  In  a  few  days  the  visit  was  repeated.  Miss  Burney 
was  more  at  ease  than  before.  His  Majesty,  instead  of  seeking  for 
information,  condescended  to  impart  it,  and  passed  sentence 
on  many  great  writers,  English  and  foreign.  Voltaire  he  pro- 
nounced a  monster.  Rousseau  he  liked  rather  better.  "But 
was  there  ever,"  he  cried,  "such  stuff  as  great  part  of  Shakspeare? 
Only  one  must  not  say  so.  But  what  think  you?  What?  Is  there 
not  sad  stuff  ?  What  ?  What  ?  " 

The  next  day  Frances  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  listening  to  some 


294  THOMAS  BABINGTON    MACAULAY 

equally  valuable  criticism  uttered  by  the  Queen  touching  Goethe 
and  Klopstock,  and  might  have  learned  an  important  lesson  of 
economy  from  the  mode  in  which  her  Majesty's  library  had  been 
formed.  "  I  picked  the  book  up  on  a  stall,"  said  the  Queen.  "  Oh, 
it  is  amazing  what  good  books  there  are  on  stalls  ! "  Mrs.  Delany, 
who  seems  to  have  understood  from  these  words  that  her  Majesty 
was  in  the  habit  of  exploring  the  booths  of  Moorfields  and  Holy- 
well  Street  in  person,  could  not  suppress  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 
"Why,"  said  the  Queen,  "I  don't  pick  them  up  myself.  But  I 
have  a  servant  very  clever;  and,  if  they  are  not  to  be  had  at  the 
booksellers,  they  are  not  for  me  more  than  for  another."  Miss 
Burney  describes  this  conversation  as  delightful ;  and,  indeed,  we 
cannot  wonder  that,  with  her  literary  tastes,  she  should  be  de- 
lighted at  hearing  in  how  magnificent  a  manner  the  greatest  lady  in 
the  land  encouraged  literature. 

The  truth  is,  that  Frances  was  fascinated  by  the  condescending 
kindness  of  the  two  great  personages  to  whom  she  had  been  pre- 
sented. Her  father  was  even  more  infatuated  than  herself. 
The  result  was  a  step  of  which  we  cannot  think  with  patience, 
but  which,  recorded  as  it  is,  with  all  its  consequences,  in  these 
volumes,  deserves  at  least  this  praise,  that  it  has  furnished  a  most 
impressive  warning. 

A  German  Lady  of  the  name  of  Haggerdorn,  one  of  the  keepers 
of  the  Queen's  robes,  retired  about  this  time;  and  her  Majesty 
offered  the  vacant  post  to  Miss  Burney.  When  we  consider  that 
Miss  Burney  was  decidedly  the  most  popular  writer  of  fictitious 
narrative  then  living,  that  competence,  if  not  opulence,  was  within 
her  reach,  and  that  she  was  more  than  usually  happy  in  her  domes- 
tic circle,  and  when  we  compare  the  sacrifice  which  she  was  invited 
to  make  with  the  remuneration  which  was  held  out  to  her,  we 
are  divided  between  laughter  and  indignation. 

What  was  demanded  of  her  was  that  she  should  consent  to 
be  almost  as  completely  separated  from  her  family  and  friends 
as  if  she  had  gone  to  Calcutta,  and  almost  as  close  a  prisoner  as  if 
she  had  been  sent  to  gaol  for  a  libel ;  that  with  talents  which  had 
instructed  and  delighted  the  highest  living  minds,  she  should  now 
be  employed  only  in  mixing  snuff  and  sticking  pins;  that  she 
should  be  summoned  by  a  waiting-woman's  bell  to  a  waiting- 


FANNY   BURNEY   AT  COURT  295 

woman's  duties;  that  she  should  pass  her  whole  life  under  the 
restraints  of  a  paltry  etiquette,  should  sometimes  fast  till  she  was 
ready  to  swoon  with  hunger,  should  sometimes  stand  till  her 
knees  gave  way  with  fatigue;  that  she  should  not  dare  to  speak 
or  move  without  considering  how  her  mistress  might  like  her  words 
and  gestures.  Instead  of  those  distinguished  men  and  women,  the 
flower  of  all  political  parties,  with  whom  she  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  mixing  on  terms  of  equal  friendship,  she  was  to  have  for  her 
perpetual  companion  the  chief  keeper  of  the  robes,  an  old  hag  from 
Germany,  of  mean  understanding,  of  insolent  manners,  and  of 
temper  which,  naturally  savage,  had  now  been  exasperated  by  dis- 
ease. Now  and  then,  indeed,  poor  Frances  might  console  herself 
for  the  loss  of  Burke 's  and  Windham's  society,  by  joining  in  the 
" celestial  colloquy  sublime"  of  his  Majesty's  Equerries. 

And  what  was  the  consideration  for  which  she  was  to  sell  her- 
self to  this  slavery?  A  peerage  in  her  own  right?  A  pension  of 
two  thousand  a  year  for  life  ?  A  seventy-four  for  her  brother  in  the 
navy  ?  A  deanery  for  her  brother  in  the  church  ?  Not  so.  The 
price  at  which  she  was  valued  was  her  board,  her  lodging,  the  at- 
tendance of  a  man-servant,  and  two  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

The  man  who,  even  when  hard  pressed  by  hunger,  sells  his  birth- 
right for  a  mess  of  pottage,  is  unwise.  But  what  shall  we  say  of 
him  who  parts  with  his  birthright,  and  does  not  get  even  the  pottage 
in  return  ?  It  is  not  necessary  to  inquire  whether  opulence  be  a  n  ade- 
quate compensation  for  the  sacrifice  of  bodily  and  mental  freedom ; 
for  Frances  Burney  paid  for  leave  to  be  a  prisoner  and  a  menial.  It 
was  evidently  understood  as  one  of  the  terms  of  her  engagement, 
that,  while  she  was  a  member  of  the  royal  household,  she  was  not  to 
appear  before  the  public  as  an  author;  and,  even  had  there  been 
no  such  understanding,  her  avocations  were  such  as  left  her  no 
leisure  for  any  considerable  intellectual  effort.  That  her  place  was 
incompatible  with  her  literary  pursuits  was  indeed  frankly  ac- 
knowledged by  the  King  when  she  resigned.  "  She  has  given  up," 
he  said,  "five  years  of  her  pen."  That  during  those  five  years 
she  might,  without  painful  exertion,  without  any  exertion  that 
would  not  have  been  a  pleasure,  have  earned  enough  to  buy  an 
annuity  for  life  much  larger  than  the  precarious  salary  which  she 
received  at  Court,  is  quite  certain.  The  same  income,  too,  which 


296  THOMAS  BABINGTON   MACAU  LAY 

in  Saint  Martin's  Street  would  have  afforded  her  every  comfort, 
must  have  been  found  scanty  at  Saint  James's.  We  cannot 
venture  to  speak  confidently  of  the  price  of  millinery  and  jewellery; 
but  we  are  greatly  deceived  if  a  lady,  who  had  to  attend  Queen 
Charlotte  on  many  public  occasions,  could  possibly  save  a  farthing 
out  of  a  salary  of  two  hundred  a  year.  The  principle  of  the  ar- 
rangement was,  in  short,  simply  this,  that  Frances  Burney  should 
become  a  slave,  and  should  be  rewarded  by  being  made  a 
beggar. 

With  what  object  their  Majesties  brought  her  to  their  palace, 
we  must  own  ourselves  unable  to  conceive.  Their  object  could 
not  be  to  encourage  her  literary  exertions ;  for  they  took  her  from 
a  situation  in  which  it  was  almost  certain  that  she  would  write, 
and  put  her  into  a  situation  in  which  it  was  impossible  for  her 
to  write.  Their  object  could  not  be  to  promote  her  pecuniary 
interest;  for  they  took  her  from  a  situation  where  she  was  likely 
to  become  rich,  and  put  her  into  a  situation  in  which  she  could 
not  but  continue  poor.  Their  object  could  not  be  to  obtain  an 
eminently  useful  waiting-maid;  for  it  is  clear  that,  though  Miss 
Burney  was  the  only  woman  of  her  time  who  could  have  described 
the  death  of  Harrel,  thousands  might  have  been  found  more  expert 
in  tying  ribands  and  filling  snuff-boxes.  To  grant  her  a  pension 
on  the  civil  list  would  have  been  an  act  of  judicious  liberality, 
honourable  to  the  Court.  If  this  was  impracticable,  the  next 
best  thing  was  to  let  her  alone.  That  the  King  and  Queen  meant 
her  nothing  but  kindness,  we  do  not  in  the  least  doubt.  But 
their  kindness  was  the  kindness  of  persons  raised  high  above  the 
mass  of  mankind,  accustomed  to  be  addressed  with  profound 
deference,  accustomed  to  see  all  who  approach  them  mortified  by 
their  coldness  and  elated  by  their  smiles.  They  fancied  that  to 
be  noticed  by  them,  to  be  near  them,  to  serve  them,  was  in  itself 
a  kind  of  happiness;  and  that  Frances  Burney  ought  to  be  full 
of  gratitude  for  being  permitted  to  purchase,  by  the  surrender  of 
health,  wealth,  freedom,  domestic  affection,  and  literary  fame, 
the  privilege  of  standing  behind  a  royal  chair,  and  holding  a  pair 
of  royal  gloves. 

And  who  can  blame  them?  Who  can  wonder  that  princes 
should  be  under  such  a  delusion,  when  they  are  encouraged  in  it 


FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT  297 

by  the  very  persons  who  suffer  from  it  most  cruelly  ?  Was  it  to 
be  expected  that  George  the  Third  and  Queen  Charlotte  should 
understand  the  interest  of  Frances  Burney  better,  or  promote  it 
with  more  zeal,  than  herself  and  her  father?  No  deception  was 
practised.  The  conditions  of  the  house  of  bondage  were  set  forth 
with  all  simplicity.  The  hook  was  presented  without  a  bait; 
the  net  was  spread  in  sight  of  the  bird :  and  the  naked  hook  was 
greedily  swallowed,  and  the  silly  bird  made  haste  to  entangle  her- 
self in  the  net. 

It  is  not  strange  indeed  that  an  invitation  to  Court  should  have 
caused  a  fluttering  in  the  bosom  of  an  inexperienced  young  woman. 
But  it  was  the  duty  of  the  parent  to  watch  over  the  child,  and  to  show 
her  that  on  one  side  were  only  infantine  vanities  and  chimerical 
hopes,  on  the  other  liberty,  peace  of  mind,  affluence,  social  enjoy- 
ments, honourable  distinctions.  Strange  to  say,  the  only  hesitation 
was  on  the  part  of  Frances.  Dr.  Burney  was  transported  out  of 
himself  with  delight.  Not  such  are  the  raptures  of  a  Circassian 
father  who  has  sold  his  pretty  daughter  well  to  a  Turkish  slave- 
merchant.  Yet  Dr.  Burney  was  an  amiable  man,  a  man  of  good 
abilities,  a  man  who  had  seen  much  of  the  world.  But  he  seems  to 
have  thought  that  going  to  Court  was  like  going  to  heaven ;  that  to 
see  princes  and  princesses  was  a  kind  of  beatific  vision;  that  the 
exquisite  felicity  enjoyed  by  royal  persons  was  not  confined  to 
themselves,  but  was  communicated  by  some  mysterious  efflux  or 
reflection  to  all  who  were  suffered  to  stand  at  their  toilettes,  or  to 
bear  their  trains.  He  overruled  all  his  daughter's  objections,  and 
himself  escorted  her  to  her  prison.  The  door  closed.  The  key 
was  turned.  She,  looking  back  with  tender  regret  on  all  that  she 
had  left,  and  forward  with  anxiety  and  terror  to  the  new  life  on 
which  she  was  entering,  was  unable  to  speak  or  stand;  and  he 
went  on  his  way  homeward  rejoicing  in  her  marvellous  prosperity. 

And  now  began  a  slavery  of  five  years,  of  five  years  taken  from 
the  best  part  of  life,  and  wasted  in  menial  drudgery  or  in  recreations 
duller  than  even  menial  drudgery,  under  galling  restraints  and 
amidst  unfriendly  or  uninteresting  companions.  The  history  of  an 
ordinary  day  was  this.  Miss  Burney  had  to  rise  and  dress  herself 
early,  that  she  might  be  ready  to  answer  the  royal  bell,  which  rang 
at  half  after  seven.  Till  about  eight  she  attended  in  the  Queen's 


298  THOMAS   BABINGTON   MACAU  LAY 

dressing-room,  and  had  the  honour  of  lacing  her  august  mistress's 
stays,  and  of  putting  on  the  hoop,  gown,  and  neckhandkerchief. 
The  morning  was  chiefly  spent  in  rummaging  drawers  and  laying 
fine  clothes  in  their  proper  places.  Then  the  Queen  was  to  be 
powdered  and  dressed  for  the  day.  Twice  a  week  her  Majesty's 
hair  was  curled  and  craped;  and  this  operation  appears  to  have 
added  a  full  hour  to  the  business  of  the  toilette.  It  was  generally 
three  before  Miss  Burney  was  at  liberty.  Then  she  had  two 
hours  at  her  own  disposal.  To  these  hours  we  owe  great  part  of 
her  Diary.  At  five  she  had  to  attend  her  colleague,  Madame  Sch  wel- 
lenberg,  a  hateful  old  toadeater,  as  illiterate  as  a  chambermaid,  as 
proud  as  a  whole  German  Chapter,  rude,  peevish,  unable  to  bear 
solitude,  unable  to  conduct  herself  with  common  decency  in  society. 
With  this  delightful  associate,  Frances  Burney  had  to  dine,  and 
pass  the  evening.  The  pair  generally  remained  together  from 
five  to  eleven,  and  often  had  no  other  company  the  whole  time, 
except  during  the  hour  from  eight  to  nine,  when  the  equerries 
came  to  tea.  If  poor  Frances  attempted  to  escape  to  her  own  apart- 
ment, and  to  forget  her  wretchedness  over  a  book,  the  execrable  old 
woman  railed  and  stormed,  and  complained  that  she  was  neglected. 
Yet,  when  Frances  stayed,  she  was  constantly  assailed  with  insolent 
reproaches.  Literary  fame  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  German  crone, 
a  blemish,  a  proof  that  the  person  who  enjoyed  it  was  meanly  born, 
and  out  of  the  pale  of  good  society.  All  her  scanty  stock  of  broken 
English  was  employed  to  express  the  contempt  with  which  she 
regarded  the  author  of  Evelina  and  Cecilia.  Frances  detested 
cards,  and  indeed  knew  nothing  about  them ;  but  she  soon  found 
that  the  least  miserable  way  of  passing  an  evening  with  Madame 
Schwellenberg  was  at  the  card-table,  and  consented,  with  patient 
sadness,  to  give  hours,  which  might  have  called  forth  the  laughter 
and  the  tears  of  many  generations,  to  the  king  of  clubs  and  the 
knave  of  spades.  Between  eleven  and  twelve  the  bell  rang  again. 
Miss  Burney  had  to  pass  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour  in  undress- 
ing the  Queen,  and  was  then  at  liberty  to  retire,  and  to  dream 
that  she  was  chatting  with  her  brother  by  the  quiet  hearth  in  Saint 
Martin's  Street,  that  she  was  the  centre  of  an  admiring  assemblage 
at  Mrs.  Crewe's,  that  Burke  was  calling  her  the  first  woman  of  the 
age,  or  that  Dilly  was  giving  her  a  cheque  for  two  thousand  guineas. 


FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT  299 

Men,  we  must  suppose,  are  less  patient  than  women;  for  we  are 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  any  human  being  could  endure 
such  a  life,  while  there  remained  a  vacant  garret  in  Grub  Street, 
a  crossing  in  want  of  a  sweeper,  a  parish  work-house,  or  a  parish 
vault.  And  it  was  for  such  a  life  that  Frances  Burney  had  given 
up  liberty  and  peace,  a  happy  fireside,  attached  friends,  a  wide 
and  splendid  circle  of  acquaintance,  intellectual  pursuits  in  which 
she  was  qualified  to  excel,  and  the  sure  hope  of  what  to  her  would 
have  been  affluence. 

There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun.  The  last  great  master 
of  Attic  eloquence  and  Attic  wit  has  left  us  a  forcible  and  touch- 
ing description  of  the  misery  of  a  man  of  letters,  who,  lured  by 
hopes  similar  to  those  of  Frances,  had  entered  the  service  of  one 
of  the  magnates  of  Rome.  "Unhappy  that  I  am, "  cries  the  victim 
of  his  own  childish  ambition:  " would  nothing  content  me  but  that 
I  must  leave  mine  old  pursuits  and  mine  old  companions,  and  the 
life  which  was  without  care,  and  sleep  which  had  no  limits  save 
mine  own  pleasure,  and  the  walks  which  I  was  free  to  take  where  I 
listed,  and  fling  myself  into  the  lowest  pit  of  a  dungeon  like  this  ? 
And,  O  God !  for  what  ?  Was  there  no  way  by  which  I  might  have 
enjoyed  in  freedom  comforts  even  greater  than  those  which  I  now 
earn  by  servitude  ?  Like  a  lion  which  has  been  made  so  tame  that 
men  may  lead  him  about  by  a  thread,  I  am  dragged  up  and  down, 
with  broken  and  humbled  spirit,  at  the  heels  of  those  to  whom,  in 
mine  own  domain,  I  should  have  been  an  object  of  awe  and  wonder. 
And,  worst  of  all,  I  feel  that  here  I  gain  no  credit,  that  here  I  give 
no  pleasure.  The  talents  and  accomplishments,  which  charmed  a 
far  different  circle,  are  here  out  of  place.  I  am  rude  in  the  arts  of 
palaces,  and  can  ill  bear  comparison  with  those  whose  calling,  from 
their  youth  up,  has  been  to  flatter  and  to  sue.  Have  I,  then,  two 
lives,  that,  after  I  have  wasted  one  in  the  service  of  others,  there 
may  yet  remain  to  me  a  second,  which  I  may  live  unto  myself?" 

Now  and  then,  indeed,  events  occurred  which  disturbed  the 
wretched  monotony  of  Frances  Burney 's  life.  The  Court  moved 
from  Kew  to  Windsor,  and  from  Windsor  back  to  Kew.  One  dull 
colonel  went  out  of  waiting,  and  another  dull  colonel  came  into 
waiting.  An  impertinent  servant  made  a  blunder  about  tea,  and 
caused  a  misunderstanding  between  the  gentlemen  and  the  ladies. 


300  THOMAS  BABINGTON   MACAULAY 

A  half-witted  French  Protestant  minister  talked  oddly  about  con- 
jugal fidelity.  An  unlucky  member  of  the  household  mentioned 
a  passage  in  the  Morning  Herald,  reflecting  on  the  Queen;  and 
forthwith  Madame  Schwellenberg  began  to  storm  in  bad  English, 
and  told  him  that  he  made  her  "what  you  call  perspire!'* 

A  more  important  occurrence  was  the  King's  visit  to  Oxford. 
Miss  Burney  went  in  the  royal  train  to  Nuneham,  was  utterly 
neglected  there  in  the  crowd,  and  could  with  difficulty  find  a 
servant  to  show  the  way  to  her  bedroom,  or  a  hairdresser  to  arrange 
her  curls.  She  had  the  honour  of  entering  Oxford  in  the  last  of 
a  long  string  of  carriages  which  formed  the  royal  procession,  of 
walking  after  the  Queen  all  day  through  refectories  and  chapels, 
and  of  standing,  half  dead  with  fatigue  and  hunger,  while  her  august 
mistress  was  seated  at  an  excellent  cold  collation.  At  Magdalen 
College,  Frances  was  left  for  a  moment  in  a  parlour,  where  she  sank 
down  on  a  chair.  A  good-natured  equerry  saw  that  she  was  ex- 
hausted, and  shared  with  her  some  apricots  and  bread,  which  he 
had  wisely  put  into  his  pockets.  At  that  moment  the  door  opened ; 
the  Queen  entered ;  the  wearied  attendants  sprang  up ;  the  bread 
and  fruit  were  hastily  concealed.  "I  found,"  says  poor  Miss 
Burney,  "that  our  appetites  were  to  be  supposed  annihilated,  at  the 
same  moment  that  our  strength  was  to  be  invincible." 

Yet  Oxford,  seen  even  under  such  disadvantages,  "revived  in 
her,"  to  use  her  own  words,  "  a  consciousness  to  pleasure  which  had 
long  lain  nearly  dormant."  She  forgot,  during  one  moment, 
that  she  was  a  waiting-maid,  and  felt  as  a  woman  of  true  genius 
might  be  expected  to  feel  amidst  venerable  remains  of  antiquity, 
beautiful  works  of  art,  vast  repositories  of  knowledge,  and  me- 
morials of  the  illustrious  dead.  Had  she  still  been  what  she  was 
before  her  father  induced  her  to  take  the  most  fatal  step  of  her 
life,  we  can  easily  imagine  what  pleasure  she  would  have  derived 
from  a  visit  to  the  noblest  of  English  cities.  She  might,  indeed, 
have  been  forced  to  travel  in  a  hack  chaise,  and  might  not  have 
worn  so  fine  a  gown  of  Chambery  gauze  as  that  in  which  she  tot- 
tered after  the  royal  party;  but  with  what  delight  would  she  have 
then  paced  the  cloisters  of  Magdalen,  compared  the  antique 
gloom  of  Merton  with  the  splendour  of  Christ  Church,  and  looked 
down  from  the  dome  of  the  Radcliffe  Library  on  the  magnifi- 


FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT  301 

cent  sea  of  turrets  and  battlements  below!  How  gladly  would 
learned  men  have  laid  aside  for  a  few  hours  Pindar's  Odes  and 
Aristotle's  Ethics  to  escort  the  author  of  Cecilia  from  college  to 
college !  What  neat  little  banquets  would  she  have  found  set  out 
in  their  monastic  cells !  With  what  eagerness  would  pictures, 
medals,  and  illuminated  missals  have  been  brought  forth  from  the 
most  mysterious  cabinets  for  her  amusement!  How  much  she 
would  have  had  to  hear  and  to  tell  about  Johnson,  as  she 
walked  over  Pembroke,  and  about  Reynolds,  in  the  antechapel 
of  New  College !  But  these  indulgences  were  not  for  one  who 
had  sold  herself  into  bondage. 

About  eighteen  months  after  the  visit  to  Oxford,  another  event 
diversified  the  wearisome  life  which  Frances  led  at  Court. 
Warren  Hastings  was  brought  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Peers. 
The  Queen  and  Princesses  were  present  when  the  trial  commenced, 
and  Miss  Burney  was  permitted  to  attend.  During  the  subsequent 
proceedings  a  day  rule  for  the  same  purpose  was  occasionally 
granted  to  her ;  for  the  Queen  took  the  strongest  interest  in  the  trial, 
and  when  she  could  not  go  herself  to  Westminster  Hall,  liked  to 
receive  a  report  of  what  had  passed  from  a  person  of  singular  powers 
of  observation,  and  who  was,  moreover,  acquainted  with  some 
of  the  most  distinguished  managers.  The  portion  of  the  Diary 
which  relates  to  this  celebrated  proceeding  is  lively  and  picturesque. 
Yet  we  read  it,  we  own,  with  pain ;  for  it  seems  to  us  to  prove  that 
the  fine  understanding  of  Frances  Burney  was  beginning  to  feel  the 
pernicious  influence  of  a  mode  of  life  which  is  as  incompatible 
with  health  of  mind  as  the  air  of  the  Pomptine  marshes  with  health 
of  body.  From  the  first  day  she  espouses  the  cause  of  Hastings 
with  a  presumptuous  vehemence  and  acrimony  quite  inconsistent 
with  the  modesty  and  suavity  of  her  ordinary  deportment.  She 
shudders  when  Burke  enters  the  Hall  at  the  head  of  the  Commons. 
She  pronounces  him  the  cruel  oppressor  of  an  innocent  man.  She 
is  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  the  managers  can  look  at  the  defendant, 
and  not  blush.  Windham  comes  to  her  from  the  manager's  box, 
to  offer  her  refreshment.  "But,"  says  she,  "I  could  not  break 
bread  with  him. "  Then,  again,  she  exclaims,  "Ah,  Mr.  Windham, 
how  came  you  ever  engaged  in  so  cruel,  so  unjust  a  cause  ?  "  "  Mr. 
Burke  saw  me,"  she  says,  "and  he  bowed  with  the  most  marked 


302  THOMAS  BABINGTON   MACAU  LAY 

civility  of  manner."  This,  be  it  observed,  was  just  after  his 
opening  speech,  a  speech  which  had  produced  a  mighty  effect,  and 
which,  certainly,  no  other  orator  that  ever  lived,  could  have  made. 
"My  curtsy,"  she  continues,  "was  the  most  ungrateful,  distant 
and  cold ;  I  could  not  do  otherwise ;  so  hurt  I  felt  to  see  him  the 
head  of  such  a  cause. "  Now,  not  only  had  Burke  treated  her  with 
constant  kindness,  but  the  very  last  act  which  he  performed  on  the 
day  on  which  he  was  turned  out  of  the  Pay  Office,  about  four  years 
before  this  trial,  was  to  make  Dr.  Burney  organist  of  Chelsea  Hos- 
pital. When,  at  the  Westminster  election.  Dr.  Burney  was  divided 
between  his  gratitude  for  this  favor  and  his  Tory  opinions,  Burke 
in  the  noblest  manner  disclaimed  all  right  to  exact  a  sacrifice  of 
principle.  "You  have  little  or  no  obligations  to  me,"  he  wrote; 
"but  if  you  had  as  many  as  I  really  wish  it  were  in  my  power,  as  it 
is  certainly  in  my  desire,  to  lay  on  you,  I  hope  you  do  not  think  me 
capable  of  conferring  them,  in  order  to  subject  your  mind  or  your 
affairs  to  a  painful  and  mischievous  servitude. "  Was  this  a  man  to 
be  uncivilly  treated  by  a  daughter  of  Dr.  Burney,  because  she  chose 
to  differ  from  him  respecting  a  vast  and  most  complicated  question, 
which  he  had  studied  deeply  during  many  years,  and  which  she  had 
never  studied  at  all  ?  It  is  clear,  from  Miss  Burney 'sown  narrative, 
that  when  she  behaved  so  unkindly  to  Mr.  Burke,  she  did  not  even 
know  of  what  Hastings  was  accused.  One  thing,  however,  she 
must  have  known,  that  Burke  had  been  able  to  convince  a  House  of 
Commons,  bitterly  prejudiced  against  himself,  that  the  charges 
were  well  founded,  and  that  Pitt  and  Dundas  had  concurred 
with  Fox  and  Sheridan,  in  supporting  the  impeachment.  Surely 
a  woman  of  far  inferior  abilities  to  Miss  Burney  might  have  been 
expected  to  see  that  this  never  could  have  happened  unless  there  had 
been  a  strong  case  against  the  late  Governor- General.  And  there 
was,  as  all  reasonable  men  now  admit,  a  strong  case  against  him. 
That  there  were  great  public  services  to  be  set  off  against  his  great 
crimes  is  perfectly  true.  But  his  services  and  his  crimes  were 
equally  unknown  to  the  lady  who  so  confidently  asserted  his  perfect 
innocence,  and  imputed  to  his  accusers,  that  is  to  say,  to  all  the 
greatest  men  of  all  parties  in  the  State,  not  merely  error,  but  gross 
injustice  and  barbarity. 

She  had,  it  is  true,  occasionally  seen  Mr.  Hastings,  and  had 


FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT  363 

found  his  manners  and  conversation  agreeable.  But  surely  she 
could  not  be  so  weak  as  to  infer  from  the  gentleness  of  his  deport- 
ment in  a  drawing-room,  that  he  was  incapable  of  committing  a 
great  State  crime,  under  the  influence  of  ambition  and  revenge.  A 
silly  Miss,  fresh  from  a  boarding-school  might  fall  into  such  a 
mistake;  but  the  woman  who  had  drawn  the  character  of  Mr. 
Monckton  should  have  known  better. 

The  truth  is  that  she  had  been  too  long  at  Court.  She  was 
sinking  into  a  slavery  worse  than  that  of  the  body.  The  iron 
was  beginning  to  enter  into  the  soul.  Accustomed  during  many 
months  to  watch  the  eye  of  a  mistress,  to  receive  with  boundless 
gratitude  the  slightest  mark  of  royal  condescension,  to  feel  wretched 
at  every  symptom  of  royal  displeasure,  to  associate  only  with 
spirits  long  tamed  and  broken  in,  she  was  degenerating  into  some- 
thing fit  for  her  place.  Queen  Charlotte  was  a  violent  partisan  of 
Hastings,  had  received  presents  from  him,  and  had  so  far  departed 
from  the  severity  of  her  virtue  as  to  lend  her  countenance  to  his 
wife,  whose  conduct  had  certainly  been  as  reprehensible  as  that 
of  any  of  the  frail  beauties  who  were  then  rigidly  excluded  from  the 
English  Court.  The  King,  it  was  well  known,  took  the  same  side. 
To  the  King  and  Queen  all  the  members  of  the  household  looked 
submissively  for  guidance.  The  impeachment,  therefore,  was  an 
atrocious  persecution ;  the  managers  were  rascals ;  the  defendant 
was  the  most  deserving  and  the  worst  used  man  in  the  kingdom. 
This  was  the  cant  of  the  whole  palace,  from  Gold  Stick  in  Waiting, 
down  to  the  Table-Deckers  and  Yeoman  of  the  Silver  Scullery ;  and 
Miss  Burney  canted  like  the  rest,  though  in  livelier  tones,  and  with 
less  bitter  feelings. 

The  account  which  she  has  given  of  the  King's  illness  contains 
much  excellent  narrative  and  description,  and  will,  we  think,  be  as 
much  valued  by  the  historians  of  a  future  age  as  any  equal  por- 
tion of  Pepys's  or  Evelyn's  Diaries.  That  account  shows  also 
how  affectionate  and  compassionate  her  nature  was.  But  it 
shows  also,  we  must  say,  that  her  way  of  life  was  rapidly  impair- 
ing her  powers  of  reasoning  and  her  sense  of  justice.  We  do 
not  mean  to  discuss,  in  this  place,  the  question,  whether  the 
views  of  Mr.  Pitt  or  those  of  Mr.  Fox  respecting  the  regency  were 
the  more  correct.  It  is,  indeed,  quite  needless  to  discuss  that 


304  THOMAS  BABINGTON   MACAU  LAY 

question :  for  the  censure  of  Miss  Burney  falls  alike  on  Pitt  and 
Fox,  on  majority  and  minority.  She  is  angry  with  the  House  of 
Commons  for  presuming  to  inquire  whether  the  King  was  mad  or 
not,  and  whether  there  was  a  chance  of  his  recovering  his  senses. 
"A  melancholy  day,"  she  writes;  "news  bad  both  at  home  and 
abroad.  At  home  the  dear  unhappy  king  still  worse;  abroad  new 
examinations  voted  of  the  physicians.  Good  heavens !  what  an 
insult  does  this  seem  from  Parliamentary  power,  to  investigate 
and  bring  forth  to  the  world  every  circumstance  of  such  a  malady 
as  is  ever  held  sacred  to  secrecy  in  the  most  private  families  !  How 
indignant  we  all  feel  here,  no  words  can  say. "  It  is  proper  to  ob- 
serve, that  the  motion  which  roused  all  this  indignation  at  Kew 
was  made  by  Mr.  Pitt  himself.  We  see,  therefore,  that  the  loyalty 
of  the  Minister,  who  was  then  generally  regarded  as  the  most  heroic 
champion  of  his  Prince,  was  lukewarm  indeed  when  compared  with 
the  boiling  zeal  which  filled  the  pages  of  the  backstairs  and  the 
women  of  the  bedchamber.  Of  the  Regency  Bill,  Pitt's  own  bill, 
Miss  Burney  speaks  with  horror.  "I  shuddered,"  she  says,  "to 
hear  it  named."  And  again,  "Oh,  how  dreadful  will  be  the  day 
when  that  unhappy  bill  takes  place  !  I  cannot  approve  the  plan  of 
it."  The  truth  is  that  Mr.  Pitt,  whether  a  wise  and  upright  states- 
man or  not,  was  a  statesman ;  and  whatever  motives  he  might  have 
for  imposing  restrictions  on  the  regent,  felt  that  in  some  way  or  other 
there  must  be  some  provision  made  for  the  execution  of  some  part 
of  the  kingly  office,  or  that  no  government  would  be  left  in  the 
country.  But  this  was  a  matter  of  which  the  household  never 
thought.  It  never  occurred,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  to  the  Exons  and 
Keepers  of  the  Robes,  that  it  was  necessary  that  there  should  be 
somewhere  or  other  a  power  in  the  State  to  pass  laws,  to  pre- 
serve order,  to  pardon  criminals,  to  fill  up  offices,  to  negotiate  with 
foreign  governments,  to  command  the  army  and  navy.  Nay,  these 
enlightened  politicians,  and  Miss  Burney  among  the  rest,  seem  to 
have  thought  that  any  person  who  considered  the  subject  with 
reference  to  the  public  interest,  showed  himself  to  be  a  bad-hearted 
man.  Nobody  wonders  at  this  in  a  gentleman  usher ;  but  it  is 
melancholy  to  see  genius  sinking  into  such  debasement. 

During  more  than  two  years  after  the  King's  recovery,  Frances 
dragged  on  a  miserable  existence  at  the  palace.    The  consolations 


.FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT  305 

which  had  for  a  time  mitigated  the  wretchedness  of  servitude  were 
one  by  one  withdrawn.  Mrs.  Delany,  whose  society  had  been  a 
great  resource  when  the  Court  was  at  Windsor,  was  now  dead.  One 
of  the  gentlemen  of  the  royal  establishment,  Colonel  Digby,  appears 
to  have  been  a  man  of  sense,  of  taste,  of  some  reading,  and  of  pre- 
possessing manners.  Agreeable  associates  were  scarce  in  the 
prison  house,  and  he  and  Miss  Burney  therefore  naturally  became 
attached  to  each  other.  She  owns  that  she  valued  him  as  a  friend; 
and  it  would  not  have  been  strange  if  his  attentions  had  led  her  to 
entertain  for  him  a  sentiment  warmer  than  friendship.  He  quitted 
the  Court,  and  married  in  a  way  which  astonished  Miss  Burney 
greatly,  and  which  evidently  wounded  her  feelings,  and  lowered 
him  in  her  esteem.  The  palace  grew  duller  and  duller;  Madame 
Schwellenberg  became  more  and  more  savage  and  insolent;  and 
now  the  health  of  poor  Frances  began  to  give  way ;  and  all  who 
saw  her  pale  face,  her  emaciated  figure,  and  her  feeble  walk,  pre- 
dicted that  her  sufferings  would  soon  be  over. 

Frances  uniformly  speaks  of  her  royal  mistress,  and  of  the  prin- 
cesses, with  respect  and  affection.  The  princesses  seem  to  have 
well  deserved  all  the  praise  which  is  bestowed  on  them  in  the  Diary. 
They  were,  we  doubt  not,  most  amiable  women.  But  "the  sweet 
Queen, "  as  she  is  constantly  called  in  these  volumes,  is  not  by  any 
means  an  object  of  admiration  to  us.  She  had  undoubtedly  sense 
enough  to  know  what  kind  of  deportment  suited  her  high  station, 
and  self-command  enough  to  maintain  that  deportment  invariably. 
She  was,  in  her  intercourse  with  Miss  Burney,  generally  gracious 
and  affable,  sometimes,  when  displeased,  cold  and  reserved,  but 
never,  under  any  circumstances,  rude,  peevish,  or  violent.  She 
knew  how  to  dispense,  gracefully  and  skilfully,  those  little  civilities 
which,  when  paid  by  a  sovereign,  are  prized  at  many  times  their 
intrinsic  value ;  how  to  pay  a  compliment ;  how  to  lend  a  book ;  how 
to  ask  after  a  relation.  But  she  seems  to  have  been  utterly  regard- 
less of  the  comfort,  the  health,  the  life  of  her  attendants,  when  her 
own  convenience  was  concerned.  Weak,  feverish,  hardly  able  to 
stand,  Frances  had  still  to  rise  before  seven,  in  order  to  dress  the 
sweet  Queen,  and  to  sit  up  till  midnight,  in  order  to  undress  the 
sweet  Queen.  The  indisposition  of  the  handmaid  could  not,  and 
did  not,  escape  the  notice  of  her  royal  mistress.  But  the  established 


306  THOMAS   BABINGTON   MACAULAY 

doctrine  of  the  Court  was,  that  all  sickness  was  to  be  considered  as 
a  pretence  until  it  proved  fatal.  The  only  way  in  which  the  invalid 
could  clear  herself  from  the  suspicion  of  malingering,  as  it  is  called 
in  the  army,  was  to  go  on  lacing  and  unlacing  till  she  fell  down  dead 
at  the  royal  feet.  "This,"  Miss  Burney  wrote,  when  she  was 
suffering  cruelly  from  sickness,  watching,  and  labour,  "is  by  no 
means  from  hardness  of  heart;  far  otherwise.  There  is  no  hard- 
ness of  heart  in  any  one  of  them ;  but  it  is  prejudice,  and  want  of 
personal  experience. " 

Many  strangers  sympathised  with  the  bodily  and  mental  suffer- 
ings of  this  distinguished  woman.  All  who  saw  her  saw  that  her 
frame  was  sinking,  that  her  heart  was  breaking.  The  last,  it 
should  seem,  to  observe  the  change  was  her  father.  At  length,  in 
spite  of  himself,  his  eyes  were  opened.  In  May  1790,  his  daughter 
had  an  interview  of  three  hours  with  him,  the  only  long  interview 
which  they  had  had  since  he  took  her  to  Windsor  in  1786.  She 
told  him  that  she  was  miserable,  that  she  was  worn  with  attendance 
and  want  of  sleep,  that  she  had  no  comfort  in  life,  nothing  to  love, 
nothing  to  hope,  that  her  family  and  her  friends  were  to  her  as 
though  they  were  not,  and  were  remembered  by  her  as  men  remem- 
ber the  dead.  From  daybreak  to  midnight  the  same  killing  labour, 
the  same  recreations,  more  hateful  than  labour  itself,  followed  each 
other  without  variety,  without  any  interval  of  liberty  and  repose. 

The  Doctor  was  greatly  dejected  by  this  news ;  but  was  too  good- 
natured  a  man  not  to  say  that,  if  she  wished  to  resign,  his  house 
and  arms  were  open  to  her.  Still,  however,  he  could  not  bear  to  re- 
move her  from  the  Court.  His  veneration  for  royalty  amounted 
in  truth  to  idolatry.  It  can  be  compared  only  to  the  grovelling 
superstition  of  those  Syrian  devotees  who  made  their  children  pass 
through  the  fire  to  Moloch.  When  he  induced  his  daughter  to 
accept  the  place  of  keeper  of  the  robes,  he  entertained,  as  she  tells  us, 
a  hope  that  some  worldly  advantage  or  other,  not  set  down  in  the 
contract  of  service,  would  be  the  result  of  her  connection  with  the 
Court.  What  advantage  he  expected  we  do  not  know,  nor  did  he 
probably  know  himself.  But,  whatever  he  expected,  he  certainly 
got  nothing.  Miss  Burney  had  been  hired  for  board,  lodging, 
and  two  hundred  a  year.  Board,  lodging,  and  two  hundred  a 
year,  she  had  duly  received.  We  have  looked  carefully  through 


FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT  307 

the  Diary,  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  trace  of  those  extraordinary 
benefactions  on  which  the  Doctor  reckoned.  But  we  can  dis- 
cover only  a  promise,  never  performed,  of  a  gown:  and  for  this 
promise  Miss  Burney  was  expected  to  return  thanks,  such  as 
might  have  suited  the  beggar  with  whom  Saint  Martin,  in  the  legend, 
divided  his  cloak.  The  experience  of  four  years  was,  however, 
insufficient  to  dispel  the  illusion  which  had  taken  possession  of  the 
Doctor's  mind ;  and  between  the  dear  father  and  the  sweet  Queen, 
there  seemed  to  be  little  doubt  that  some  day  or  other  Frances 
would  drop  down  a  corpse.  Six  months  had  elapsed  since  the  inter- 
view between  the  parent  and  the  daughter.  The  resignation  was 
not  sent  in.  The  sufferer  grew  worse  and  worse.  She  took  bark ; 
but  it  soon  ceased  to  produce  a  beneficial  effect.  She  was  stimulated 
with  wine ;  she  was  soothed  with  opium ;  but  in  vain.  Her  breath 
began  to  fail.  The  whisper  that  she  was  in  a  decline  spread  through 
the  Court.  The  pains  in  her  side  became  so  severe  that  she  was 
forced  to  crawl  from  the  card-table  of  the  old  Fury  to  whom  she  was 
tethered,  three  or  four  times  in  an  evening,  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
hartshorn.  Had  she  been  a  negro  slave,  a  humane  planter  would 
have  excused  her  from  work.  But  her  Majesty  showed  no  mercy. 
Thrice  a  day  the  accursed  bell  still  rang ;  the  Queen  was  still  to  be 
dressed  for  the  morning  at  seven,  and  to  be  dressed  for  the  day  at 
noon,  and  to  be  undressed  at  midnight. 

But  there  had  arisen,  in  literary  and  fashionable  society,  a 
general  feeling  of  compassion  for  Miss  Burney,  and  of  indigna- 
tion against  both  her  father  and  the  Queen.  "Is  it  possible," 
said  a  great  French  lady  to  the  Doctor,  "that  your  daughter  is 
in  a  situation  where  she  is  never  allowed  a  holiday?"  Horace 
Walpole  wrote  to  Frances,  to  express  his  sympathy.  Boswell, 
boiling  over  with  good-natured  rage,  almost  forced  an  entrance 
into  the  palace  to  see  her.  "My  dear  ma'am,  why  do  you  stay? 
It  won't  do,  ma'am;  you  must  resign.  We  can  put  up  with 
it  no  longer.  Some  very  violent  measures,  I  assure  you,  will 
be  taken.  We  shall  address  Dr.  Burney  in  a  body."  Burke 
and  Reynolds,  though  less  noisy,  were  zealous  in  the  same  cause. 
Windham  spoke  to  Dr.  Burney;  but  found  him  still  irresolute. 
"I  will  set  the  club  upon  him,"  cried  Windham;  "Miss  Burney 
has  some  very  true  admirers  there,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  eagerly 


308  THOMAS  BABINGTON   MACAULAY 

assist."  Indeed  the  Burney  family  seem  to  have  been  appre- 
hensive that  some  public  affront  such  as  the  Doctor's  unpar- 
donable folly,  to  use  the  mildest  term,  had  richly  deserved, 
would  be  put  upon  him.  The  medical  men  spoke  out,  and  plainly 
told  him  that  his  daughter  must  resign  or  die. 

At  last  paternal  affection,  medical  authority,  and  the  voice 
of  all  London  crying  shame,  triumphed  over  Dr.  Burney's  love 
of  courts.  He  determined  that  Frances  should  write  a  letter 
of  resignation.  It  was  with  difficulty  that,  though  her  life  was 
at  stake,  she  mustered  spirit  to  put  the  paper  into  the  Queen's 
hands.  "I  could  not,"  so  runs  the  Diary,  "summon  courage  to 
present  my  memorial;  my  heart  always  failed  me  from  seeing 
the  Queen's  entire  freedom  from  such  an  expectation.  For 
though  I  was  frequently  so  ill  in  her  presence  that  I  could  hardly 
stand,  I  saw  she  concluded  me,  while  life  remained,  inevitably 
hers." 

At  last  with  a  trembling  hand  the  paper  was  delivered.  Then 
came  the  storm.  Juno,  as  in  the  sEneid,  delegated  the  work 
of  vengeance  to  Alecto.  The  Queen  was  calm  and  gentle;  but 
Madame  Schwellenberg  raved  like  a  maniac  in  the  incurable 
ward  of  Bedlam !  Such  insolence !  Such  ingratitude !  Such 
folly!  Would  Miss  Burney  bring  utter  destruction  on  herself 
and  her  family?  Would  she  throw  away  the  inestimable  ad- 
vantage of  royal  protection?  Would  she  part  with  privileges 
which,  once  relinquished,  could  never  be  regained?  It  was 
idle  to  talk  of  health  and  life.  If  people  could  not  live  in  the 
palace,  the  best  thing  that  could  befall  them  was  to  die  in  it. 
The  resignation  was  not  accepted.  The  language  of  the  medical 
men  became  stronger  and  stronger.  Dr.  Burney's  parental  fears 
were  fully  roused;  and  he  explicitly  declared,  in  a  letter  meant 
to  be  shown  to  the  Queen,  that  his  daughter  must  retire.  The 
Schwellenberg  raged  like  a  wild  cat.  "A  scene  almost  horrible 
ensued,"  says  Miss  Burney.  "She  was  too  much  enraged  for 
disguise,  and  uttered  the  most  furious  expressions  of  indignant 
contempt  at  our  proceedings.  I  am  sure  she  would  gladly  have 
confined  us  both  in  the  Bastile,  had  England  such  a  misery,  as 
a  fit  place  to  bring  us  to  ourselves,  from  a  daring  so  outrageous 
against  imperial  wishes."  This  passage  deserves  notice,  as  being 


FANNY   BURNEY   AT  COURT  309 

the  only  one  in  the  Diary,  so  far  as  we  have  observed,  which 
shows  Miss  Burney  to  have  been  aware  that  she  was  a  native  of 
a  free  country,  that  she  could  not  be  pressed  for  a  waiting-maid 
against  her  will,  and  that  she  had  just  as  good  a  right  to  live, 
if  she  chose,  in  Saint  Martin's  Street,  as  Queen  Charlotte  had  to 
live  at  Saint  James's. 

The  Queen  promised  that,  after  the  next  birthday,  Miss  Bur- 
ney should  be  set  at  liberty.  But  the  promise  was  ill  kept; 
and  her  Majesty  showed  displeasure  at  being  reminded  of  it. 
At  length  Frances  was  informed  that  in  a  fortnight  her  attend- 
ance should  cease.  "I  heard  this,"  she  says,  "with  a  fearful 
presentiment  I  should  surely  never  go  through  another  fort- 
night, in  so  weak  and  languishing  and  painful  a  state  of  health. 
...  As  the  time  of  separation  approached,  the  Queen's  cor- 
diality rather  diminished,  and  traces  of  internal  displeasure 
appeared  sometimes,  arising  from  an  opinion  I  ought  rather  to 
have  struggled  on,  live  or  die,  than  to  quit  her.  Yet  I  am  sure 
she  saw  how  poor  was  my  own  chance,  except  by  a  change  in 
the  mode  of  life,  and  at  least  ceased  to  wonder,  though  she  could 
not  approve."  Sweet  Queen!  What  noble  candour,  to  admit 
that  the  undutifulness  of  people,  who  did  not  think  the  honour 
of  adjusting  her  tuckers  worth  the  sacrifice  of  their  own  lives, 
was,  though  highly  criminal,  not  altogether  unnatural ! 

We  perfectly  understand  her  Majesty's  contempt  for  the  lives 
of  others  where  her  own  pleasure  was  concerned.  But  what 
pleasure  she  can  have  found  in  having  Miss  Burney  about  her, 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  comprehend.  That  Miss  Burney  was  an 
eminently  skilful  keeper  of  the  robes  is  not  very  probable.  Few 
women,  indeed,  had  paid  less  attention  to  dress.  Now  and 
then,  in  the  course  of  five  years,  she  had  been  asked  to  read 
aloud  or  to  write  a  copy  of  verses.  But  better  readers  might 
easily  have  been  found:  and  her  verses  were  worse  than  even 
the  Poet  Laureate's  Birthday  Odes.  Perhaps  that  economy, 
which  was  among  her  Majesty's  most  conspicuous  virtues,  had 
something  to  do  with  her  conduct  on  this  occasion.  Miss  Bur- 
ney had  never  hinted  that  she  expected  a  retiring  pension;  and 
indeed  would  gladly  have  given  the  little  that  she  had  for  freedom. 
But  her  Majesty  knew  what  the  public  thought,  and  what  became 


310  THOMAS   CARLYLE 

her  own  dignity.  She  could  not  for  very  shame  suffer  a  woman  of 
distinguished  genius,  who  had  quitted  a  lucrative  career  to  wait 
on  her,  who  had  served  her  faithfully  for  a  pittance  during  five 
years,  and  whose  constitution  had  been  impaired  by  labour  and 
watching,  to  leave  the  Court  without  some  mark  of  royal  liber- 
ality. George  the  Third,  who,  on  all  occasions  where  Miss  Bur- 
ney  was  concerned,  seems  to  have  behaved  like  an  honest,  good- 
natured  gentleman,  felt  this,  and  said  plainly  that  she  was  en- 
titled to  a  provision.  At  length,  in  return  for  all  the  misery 
which  she  had  undergone,  and  for  the  health  which  she  had  sac- 
rificed, an  annuity  of  one  hundred  pounds  was  granted  her, 
dependent  on  the  Queen's  pleasure. 

Then  the  prison  was  opened,  and  Frances  was  free  once  more. 
Johnson,  as  Burke  observed,  might  have  added  a  striking  page 
to  his  poem  on  the  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  if  he  had  lived  to 
see  his  little  Burney  as  she  went  into  the  palace  and  as  she  came 
out  of  it. 

THOMAS   CARLYLE 

TORRIJOS  AND    JOHN   STERLING 

[From  The  *Life  of  John  Sterling,  Part  I.,  Chap,  x.,  1851.  Centenary 
Edition,  Chapman  and  Hall,  London,  1897. 

STERLING,  JOHN  (1806-1844),  author;  son  of  Edward  Sterling;  of 
Trinity  College,  then  of  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge,  1824-7;  an  'apostle'  and 
speaker  at  the  union ;  through  his  tutor,  Julius  Charles  Hare,  came  to  know 
Coleridge  and  Wordsworth;  friend  of  Frederick  Denison  Maurice  and 
Richard  Chenevix  Trench;  with  Maurice  conducted  the  'Athenaeum,'  July 
to  December  1828;  meditated  accompanying  volunteer  expedition  against 
Ferdinand  VII  of  Spain,  but  stayed  behind  to  marry,  1830;  manager  of 
sugar  estate  in  St.  Vincent,  1831-2;  studied  philosophy  in  Germany,  1833; 
curate  of  J.  C.  Hare  at  Hurstmonceaux,  1834-5;  became  acquainted  with 
Carlyle,  1835;  contributed  to  'Blackwood's  Magazine/  1837-8,  and  'Lon- 
don and  Westminster  Review';  Sterling  Club  (founded,  1838)  called  after 
him;  in  Rome,  1838-9;  introduced  to  Caroline  Fox's  circle,  1839;  reviewed 
Tennyson's  'Poems'  in  'Quarterly,'  September  1842;  his  'Essays  and  Tales' 
edited  by  Julius  Charles  Hare,  1848 ;  rendered  famous  by  Carlyle's  biog- 
raphy, 1851.  — Index  and  Epitome  of  D.  N .  B. 

"Nor  shall  the  irremediable  drawback  that  Sterling  was  not  current  in 
the  Newspapers,  that  he  achieved  neither  what  the  world  calls  greatness  nor 
what  intrinsically  is  such,  altogether  discourage  me.  What  his  natural  size, 


TORRIJOS  AND   JOHN   STERLING  311 

and  natural  and  accidental  limits  were,  will  gradually  appear,  if  my  sketching 
be  successful.  And  I  have  remarked  that  a  true  delineation  of  the  smallest 
man,  and  his  scene  of  pilgrimage  through  life,  is  capable  of  interesting  the 
greatest  man;  that  all  men  are  to  an  unspeakable  degree  brothers,  each  man's 
life  a  strange  emblem  of  every  man's;  and  that  Human  Portraits,  faithfully 
drawn,  are  of  all  pictures  the  welcomest  on  human  walls.  Monitions  and 
moralities  enough  may  lie  in  this  small  Work,  if  honestly  written  and  honestly 
read;  —  and,  in  particular,  if  any  image  of  John  Sterling  and  his  Pilgrimage 
through  our  poor  Nineteenth  Century  be  one  day  wanted  by  the  world,  and 
they  can  find  some  shadow  of  a  true  image  here,  my  swift  scribbling  (which 
shall  be  very  swift  and  immediate)  may  prove  useful  by  and  by. 


"Nay,  what  of  men  or  of  the  world?  Here,  visible  to  myself,  for  some 
while,  was  a  brilliant  human  presence,  distinguishable,  honourable  and 
lovable  amid  the  dim  common  populations;  among  the  million  little  beauti- 
ful, once  more  a  beautiful  human  soul:  whom  I,  among  others,  recognised 
and  lovingly  walked  with,  while  the  years  and  the  hours  were.  Sitting  now 
by  his  tomb  in  thoughtful  mood,  the  new  times  bring  a  new  duty  for  me. 
'  Why  write  the  Life  of  Sterling  ? '  I  imagine  I  had  a  commission  higher 
than  the  world's,  the  dictate  of  Nature  herself,  to  do  what  is  now  done.  Sic 
prosit.''  —  THOMAS  CARLYLE,  The  Life  of  Sterling,  from  the  first  and  last 
chapters.] 

Torrijos,  who  had  now  in  1829  been  here  some  four  or  five 
years,  having  come  over  in  1824,  had  from  the  first  enjoyed 
a  superior  reception  in  England.  Possessing  not  only  a  language 
to  speak,  which  few  of  the  others  did,  but  manifold  experiences 
courtly,  military,  diplomatic,  with  fine  natural  faculties,  and 
high  Spanish  manners  tempered  into  cosmopolitan,  he  had  been 
welcomed  in  various  circles  of  society;  and  found,  perhaps 
he  alone  of  those  Spaniards,  a  certain  human  companionship 
among  persons  of  some  standing  in  this  country.  With  the 
elder  Sterlings,  among  others,  he  had  made  acquaintance;  be- 
came familiar  in  the  social  circle  at  South  Place,  and  was  much 
esteemed  there.  With  Madam  Torrijos,  who  also  was  a  person 
of  amiable  and  distinguished  qualities,  an  affectionate  friend- 
ship grew  up  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Sterling,  which  ended  only 
with  the  death  of  these  two  ladies.  John  Sterling,  on  arriving 
in  London  from  his  University  work,  naturally  inherited  what 
he  liked  to  take-up  of  this  relation :  and  in  the  lodgings  in  Regent 
Street,  and  the  democratico-literary  element  there,  Torrijos 
became  a  very  prominent,  and  at  length  almost  the  central 
object. 


312  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

The  man  himself,  it  is  well  known,  was  a  valiant,  gallant  man ; 
of  lively  intellect,  of  noble  chivalrous  character:  fine  talents, 
fine  accomplishments,  all  grounding  themselves  on  a  certain 
rugged  veracity,  recommended  him  to  the  discerning.  He  had 
begun  youth  in  the  Court  of  Ferdinand;  had  gone  on  in  Well- 
ington and  other  arduous,  victorious  and  unvictorious,  sol- 
dierings;  familiar  in  camps  and  council-rooms,  in  presence- 
chambers  and  in  prisons.  He  knew  romantic  Spain ;  —  he  was 
himself,  standing  withal  in  the  vanguard  of  Freedom's  fight,  a 
kind  of  living  romance.  Infinitely  interesting  to  John  Sterling, 
for  one. 

It  was  to  Torrijos  that  the  poor  Spaniards  of  Somers  Town 
looked  mainly,  in  their  helplessness,  for  every  species  of  help. 
Torrijos,  it  was  hoped,  would  yet  lead  them  into  Spain  and 
glorious  victory  there;  meanwhile  here  in  England,  under  de- 
feat, he  was  their  captain  and  sovereign  in  another  painfully  in- 
verse sense.  To  whom,  in  extremity,  everybody  might  apply. 
When  all  present  resources  failed,  and  the  exchequer  was  quite 
out,  there  still  remained  Torrijos.  Torrijos  has  to  find  new 
resources  for  his  destitute  patriots,  find  loans,  find  Spanish  les- 
sons for  them  among  his  English  friends:  in  all  which  chari- 
table operations,  it  need  not  be  said,  John  Sterling  was  his  fore- 
most man;  zealous  to  empty  his  own  purse  for  the  object;  im- 
petuous in  rushing  hither  or  thither  to  enlist  the  aid  of  others, 
and  find  lessons  or  something  that  would  do.  His  friends,  of 
course,  had  to  assist;  the  Bartons,  among  others,  were  wont  to 
assist;  —  and  I  have  heard  that  the  fair  Susan,  stirring-up  her 
indolent  enthusiasm  into  practicality,  was  very  successful  in 
finding  Spanish  lessons,  and  the  like,  for  these  distressed  men. 
Sterling  and  his  friends  Were  yet  new  in  this  business;  but  Tor- 
rijos and  the  others  were  getting  old  in  it,  —  and  doubtless  weary 
and  almost  desperate  of  it.  They  had  now  been  seven  years 
in  it,  many  of  them;  and  were  asking,  When  will  the  end  be? 

Torrijos  is  described  as  a  man  of  excellent  discernment:  who 
knows  how  long  he  had  repressed  the  unreasonable  schemes 
of  his  followers,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  temptings  of  falla- 
cious hope?  But  there  comes  at  length  a  sum-total  of  oppres- 
sive burdens  which  is  intolerable,  which  tempts  the  wisest  to- 


TORRIJOS  AND   JOHN   STERLING  313 

wards  fallacies  for  relief.  These  weary  groups,  pacing  the  Euston- 
Square  pavements,  had  often  said  in  their  despair,  "Were  not 
death  in  battle  better?  Here  are  we  slowly  mouldering  into 
nothingness;  there  we  might  reach  it  rapidly,  in  flaming  splen- 
dour. Flame,  either  of  victory  to  Spain  and  us,  or  of  a  patriot 
death,  the  sure  harbinger  of  victory  to  Spain.  Flame  fit  to  kindle 
a  fire  which  no  Ferdinand,  with  all  his  Inquisitions  and  Charles- 
Tenths,  could  put  out."  Enough,  in  the  end  of  1829,  Torrijos 
himself  had  yielded  to  this  pressure;  and  hoping  against  hope, 
persuaded  himself  that  if  he  could  but  land  in  the  South  of  Spain 
with  a  small  patriot  band  well  armed  and  well  resolved,  a  band 
carrying  fire  in  its  heart,  —  then  Spain,  all  inflammable  as  touch- 
wood, and  groaning  indignantly  under  its  brutal  tyrant,  might 
blaze  wholly  into  flame  round  him,  and  incalculable  victory  be 
won.  Such  was  his  conclusion;  not  sudden,  yet  surely  not 
deliberate  either,  —  desperate  rather,  and  forced-on  by  circum- 
stances. He  thought  with  himself  that,  considering  Somers 
Town  and  considering  Spain,  the  terrible  chance  was  worth  try- 
ing; that  this  big  game  of  Fate,  go  how  it  might,  was  one  which 
the  omens  credibly  declared  he  and  these  poor  Spaniards  ought 
to  play. 

His  whole  industries  and  energies  were  thereupon  bent  to- 
wards starting  the  said  game;  and  his  thought  and  continual 
speech  and  song  now  was,  That  if  he  had  a  few  thousand  pounds 
to  buy  arms,  to  freight  a  ship  and  make  the  other  preparations, 
he  and  these  poor  gentlemen,  and  Spain  and  the  world,  were 
made  men  and  a  saved  Spain  and  world.  What  talks  and  con- 
sultations in  the  apartment  in  Regent  Street,  during  those  winter 
days  of  1829-30;  setting  into  open  conflagration  the  young 
democracy  that  was  wont  to  assemble  there !  Of  which  there 
is  now  left  next  to  no  remembrance.  For  Sterling  never  spoke 
a  word  of  this  affair  in  after  days,  nor  was  any  of  the  actors  much 
tempted  to  speak.  We  can  understand  too  well  that  here  were 
young  fervid  hearts  in  an  explosive  condition;  young  rash  heads, 
sanctioned  by  a  man's  experienced  head.  Here  at  last  shall 
enthusiasm  and  theory  become  practice  and  fact;  fiery  dreams 
are  at  last  permitted  to  realise  themselves;  and  now  is  the  time 
or  never!  —How  the  Coleridge  moonshine  comported  itself 


314  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

amid  these  hot  telluric  flames,  or  whether  it  had  not  yet  begun 
to  play  there  (which  I  rather  doubt),  must  be  left  to  conjecture. 

Mr.  Hare  speaks  of  Sterling  'sailing  over  to  St.  Valery  in  an 
open  boat  along  with  others,'  upon  one  occasion,  in  this  enter- 
prise ;  —  in  the  final  English  scene  of  it,  I  suppose.  Which 
is  very  possible.  Unquestionably  there  was  adventure  enough 
of  other  kinds  for  it,  and  running  to  and  fro  with  all  his  speed 
on  behalf  of  it,  during  these  months  of  his  history!  Money 
was  subscribed,  collected:  the  young  Cambridge  democrats 
were  all  a-blaze  to  assist  Torrijos;  nay  certain  of  them  decided 
to  go  with  him,  —  and  went.  Only,  as  yet,  the  funds  were  rather 
incomplete.  And  here,  as  I  learn  from  a  good  hand,  is  the  se- 
cret history  of  their  becoming  complete.  Which,  as  we  are  upon 
the  subject,  I  had  better  give.  But  for  the  following  circumstance, 
they  had  perhaps  never  been  completed ;  nor  had  the  rash  enter- 
prise, or  its  catastrophe,  so  influential  on  the  rest  of  Sterling's 
life,  taken  place  at  all. 

A  certain  Lieutenant  Robert  Boyd,  of  the  Indian  Army,  an 
Ulster  Irishman,  a  cousin  of  Sterling's,  had  received  some  affront, 
or  otherwise  taken  some  disgust  in  that  service;  had  thrown-up 
his  commission  in  consequence;  and  returned  home,  about  this 
time,  with  intent  to  seek  another  course  of  life.  Having  only, 
for  outfit,  these  impatient  ardours,  some  experience  in  Indian 
drill-exercise,  and  five  thousand  pounds  of  inheritance,  he  found 
the  enterprise  attended  with  difficulties;  and  was  somewhat 
at  a  loss  how  to  dispose  of  himself.  Some  young  Ulster  com- 
rade, in  a  partly  similar  situation,  had  pointed  out  to  him  that 
there  lay  in  a  certain  neighbouring  creek  of  the  Irish  coast,  a 
worn-out  royal  gun-brig  condemned  to  sale,  to  be  had  dog-cheap : 
this  he  proposed  that  they  two,  or  in  fact  Boyd  with  his  five  thou- 
sand pounds,  should  buy ;  that  they  should  refit  and  arm  and  man 
it;  —  and  sail  a-privateering  "to  the  Eastern  Archipelago,"  Philip- 
pine Isles,  or  I  know  not  where ;  and  so  conquer  the  golden  fleece. 

Boyd  naturally  paused  a  little  at  this  great  proposal;  did  not 
quite  reject  it;  came  across,  with  it  and  other  fine  projects  and 
impatiences  fermenting  in  his  head,  to  London,  there  to  see  and 
consider.  It  was  in  the  months  when  the  Torrijos  enterprise 
was  in  the  birth  -  throes ;  crying  wildly  for  capital,  of  all  things. 


TORRIJOS  AND  JOHN   STERLING  315 

Boyd  naturally  spoke  of  his  projects  to  Sterling,  —  of  his  gun- 
brig  lying  in  the  Irish  creek,  among  others.  Sterling  naturally 
said,  "If  you  want  an  adventure  of  the  Sea-king  sort,  and  propose 
to  lay  your  money  and  your  life  into  such  a  game,  here  is  Torrijos 
and  Spain  at  his  back ;  here  is  a  golden  fleece  to  conquer,  worth 
twenty  Eastern  Archipelagos."  —  Boyd  and  Torrijos  quickly 
met;  quickly  bargained.  Boyd's  money  was  to  go  in  purchas- 
ing, and  storing  with  a  certain  stock  of  arms  and  etceteras,  a  small 
ship  in  the  Thames,  which  should  carry  Boyd  with  Torrijos  and 
the  adventurers  to  the  south  coast  of  Spain;  and  there,  the  game 
once  played  and  won,  Boyd  was  to  have  promotion  enough,  — 
'the  colonelcy  of  a  Spanish  cavalry  regiment,'  for  one  express 
thing.  What  exact  share  Sterling  had  in  this  negotiation,  or 
whether  he  did  not  even  take  the  prudent  side  and  caution  Boyd 
to  be  wary,  I  know  not;  but  it  was  he  that  brought  the  parties 
together;  and  all  his  friends  knew,  in  silence,  that  to  the  end 
of  his  life  he  painfully  remembered  that  fact. 

And  so  a  ship  was  hired,  or  purchased,  in  the  Thames;  due 
furnishings  began  to  be  executed  in  it;  arms  and  stores  were 
gradually  got  on  board;  Torrijos  with  his  Fifty  picked  Span- 
iards, in  the  mean  while,  getting  ready.  This  was  in  the  spring 
of  1830.  Boyd's  5ooo/.  was  the  grand  nucleus  of  finance;  but 
vigorous  subscription  was  carried  on  likewise  in  Sterling's  young 
democratic  circle,  or  wherever  a  member  of  it  could  find  access; 
not  without  considerable  result,  and  with  a  zeal  that  may  be 
imagined.  Nay,  as  above  hinted,  certain  of  these  young  men 
decided,  not  to  give  their  money  only,  but  themselves  along  with 
it,  as  democratic  volunteers  and  soldiers  of  progress;  among 
whom,  it  need  not  be  said,  Sterling  intended  to  be  foremost. 
Busy  weeks  with  him,  those  spring  ones  of  the  year  1830! 
Through  this  small  Note,  accidentally  preserved  to  us,  addressed 
to  his  friend  Barton,  we  obtain  a  curious  glance  into  the  sub- 
terranean workshop: 

'To  Charles  Barton,  Esq.,  Dorset  Sq.,  Regent's  Park. 

[No  date;  apparently  March  or  February  1830.] 

'MY  DEAR  CHARLES,  —  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  to  talk  to 
you  about  my  foreign  affairs.  If  you  are  going  to  be  in  Lon- 


316  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

don  for  a  few  days,  I  believe  you  can  be  very  useful  to  me,  at 
a  considerable  expense  and  trouble  to  yourself,  in  the  way  of 
buying  accoutrements ;  inter  alia,  a  sword  and  a  saddle,  —  not 
you  will  understand,  for  my  own  use. 

'Things  are  going  on  very  well,  but  are  very,  even  fright- 
fully near;  only  be  quiet!  Pray  would  you,  in  case  of  neces- 
sity, take  a  free  passage  to  Holland,  next  week  or  the  week 
after ;  stay  two  or  three  days,  and  come  back,  all  expenses  paid  ? 

If  you  write  to  B at  Cambridge,  tell  him  above  all  things 

to  hold  his  tongue.  If  you  are  near  Palace  Yard  to-morrow 
before  two,  pray  come  see  me.  Do  not  come  on  purpose ; 
especially  as  I  may  perhaps  be  away,  and  at  all  events  shall  not 
be  there  until  eleven,  nor  perhaps  till  rather  later. 

'I  fear  I  shall  have  alarmed  your  Mother  by  my  irruption. 
Forgive  me  for  that  and  all  my  exactions  from  you.  If  the  next 
month  were  over,  I  should  not  have  to  trouble  any  one.  —  Yours 
affectionately, 

*J.  STERLING.' 

Busy  weeks  indeed ;  and  a  glowing  smithy-light  coming  through 
the  chinks !  —  The  romance  of  Arthur  Coningsby  lay  written, 
or  half -written,  in  his  desk;  and  here,  in  his  heart  and  among 
his  hands,  was  an  acted  romance  and  unknown  catastrophes 
keeping  pace  with  that. 

Doubts  from  the  doctors,  for  his  health  was  getting  ominous, 
threw  some  shade  over  the  adventure.  Reproachful  reminis- 
cences of  Coleridge  and  Theosophy  were  natural  too ;  then  fond 
regrets  for  Literature  and  its  glories:  if  you  act  your  romance, 
how  can  you  also  write  it?  Regrets,  and  reproachful  reminis- 
cences, from  Art  and  Theosophy ;  perhaps  some  tenderer  regrets 
withal.  A  crisis  in  life  had  come;  when,  of  innumerable  pos- 
sibilities one  possibility  was  to  be  elected  king,  and  to  swallow 
all  the  rest,  the  rest  of  course  made  noise  enough,  and  swelled 
themselves  to  their  biggest. 

Meanwhile  the  ship  was  fast  getting  ready:  on  a  certain  day, 
it  was  to  drop  quietly  down  the  Thames;  then  touch  at  Deal, 
and  take  on  board  Torrijos  and  his  adventurers,  who  were  to 


TORRIJOS  AND   JOHN   STERLING  317 

be  in  waiting  and  on  the  outlook  for  them  there.  Let  every  man 
lay-in  his  accoutrements,  then;  let  every  man  make  his  pack- 
ages, his  arrangements  and  farewells.  Sterling  went  to  take 
leave  of  Miss  Barton.  "You  are  going,  then;  to  Spain?  To 
rough  it  amid  the  storms  of  war  and  perilous  insurrection;  and 
with  that  weak  health  of  yours ;  and  —  we  shall  never  see  you 
more,  then !  "  Miss  Barton,  all  her  gaiety  gone,  the  dimpling 
softness  become  liquid  sorrow,  and  the  musical  ringing  voice 
one  wail  of  woe,  'burst  into  tears,'  —  so  I  have  it  on  authority:  — 
here  was  one  possibility  about  to  be  strangled  that  made  unex- 
pected noise !  Sterling's  interview  ended  in  the  offer  of  his  hand, 
and  the  acceptance  of  it ;  —  any  sacrifice  to  get  rid  of  this  horrid 
Spanish  business,  and  save  the  health  and  life  of  a  gifted  young 
man  so  precious  to  the  world  and  to  another ! 

'Ill-health,'  as  often  afterwards  in  Sterling's  life,  when  the  ex- 
cuse was  real  enough  but  not  the  chief  excuse;  'ill-health,  and 
insuperable  obstacles  and  engagements,'  had  to  bear  the  chief 
brunt  in  apologising:  and,  as  Sterling's  actual  presence,  or  that 
of  any  Englishman  except  Boyd  and  his  money,  was  not  in  the 
least  vital  to  the  adventure,  his  excuse  was  at  once  accepted. 
The  English  connexions  and  subscriptions  are  a  given  fact,  to 
be  presided  over  by  what  English  volunteers  there  are:  and  as 
for  Englishmen,  the  fewer  Englishmen  that  go,  the  larger  will 
be  the  share  of  influence  for  each.  The  other  adventurers, 
Torrijos  among  them  in  due  readiness,  moved  silently  one  by 
one  down  to  Deal:  Sterling,  superintending  the  naval  hands, 
on  board  their  ship  in  the  Thames,  was  to  see  the  last  finish 
given  to  everything  in  that  department;  then,  on  the  set  even- 
ing, to  drop  down  quietly  to  Deal,  and  there  say  Andad  con  Dios, 
and  return. 

Behold !  Just  before  the  set  evening  came,  the  Spanish  Envoy 
at  this  Court  has  got  notice  of  what  is  going  on ;  the  Spanish  Envoy, 
and  of  course  the  British  Foreign  Secretary,  and  of  course  also  the 
Thames  Police.  Armed  men  spring  suddenly  on  board,  one  day, 
while  Sterling  is  there ;  declare  the  ship  seized  and  embargoed  in 
the  King's  name ;  nobody  on  board  to  stir  till  he  has  given  some 
account  of  himself  in  due  time  and  place !  Huge  consternation, 
naturally,  from  stem  to  stern.  Sterling,  whose  presence  of  mind 


318  WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

seldom  forsook  him,  casts  his  eye  over  the  River  and  its  craft ;  sees 
a  wherry,  privately  signals  it,  drops  rapidly  on  board  of  it :  "  Stop  ! ' ' 
fiercely  interjects  the  marine  policeman  from  the  ship's  deck.  — 
"  Why  stop  ?  What  use  have  you  for  me,  or  I  for  you  ?  "  and  the 
oars  begin  playing.  —  "Stop,  or  I'll  shoot  you  ! "  cries  the  marine 
policeman,  drawing  a  pistol.  —  "No,  you  won't."  —  "I  will ! " — • 
"If  you  do  you'll  be  hanged  at  the  next  Maidstone  assizes,  then; 
that's  all,'1  —  and  Sterling's  wherry  shot  rapidly  ashore;  and  out 
of  this  perilous  adventure. 

That  same  night  he  posted  down  to  Deal;  disclosed  to  the 
Torrijos  party  what  catastrophe  had  come.  No  passage  Spain- 
ward  from  the  Thames ;  well  if  arrestment  do  not  suddenly  come 
from  the  Thames !  It  was  on  this  occasion,  I  suppose,  that  the 
passage  in  the  open  boat  to  St.  Valery  occurred;  —  speedy  flight 
in  what  boat  or  boats,  open  or  shut,  could  be  got  at  Deal  on  the 
sudden.  Sterling  himself,  according  to  Hare's  authority,  actually 
went  with  them  so  far.  Enough,  they  got  shipping,  as  private 
passengers  in  one  craft  or  the  other;  and,  by  degrees  or  at  once, 
arrived  all  at  Gibraltar,  —  Boyd,  one  or  two  young  democrats  of 
Regent  Street,  the  fifty  picked  Spaniards,  and  Torrijos,  —  safe, 
though  without  arms ;  still  in  the  early  part  of  the  year. 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

OLIVER   GOLDSMITH 

[From  The  English  Humourists  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,  1853.  Smith, 
Elder  &  Co.  London,  1869. 

"The  lectures  ['The  English  Humourists']  soon  became  popular,  as  they 
deserved  to  be.  Thackeray  was  not  given  to  minute  research,  and  his  facts 
and  dates  require  some  correction.  But  his  delicate  appreciation  of  the 
congenial  writers  and  the  finish  of  his  style  give  the  lectures  a  permanent  place 
in  criticism.  His  '  light-in-hand  manner,'  as  Motley  remarked  of  a  later 
course,  'suits  well  the  delicate  hovering  rather  than  superficial  style  of  his 
composition.'  "  —  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN,  "Thackeray,"  Dictionary  oj  Na- 
tional Biography,  Vol.  LVI,  p.  99. 

"We  think  there  was  no  disappointment  with  his  lectures.  Those  who 
knew  his  books  found  the  author  in  the  lecturer.  Those  who  did  not  know 
his  books  were  charmed  in  the  lecturer  by  what  is  charming  in  the  author  — 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  319 

the  unaffected  humanity,  the  tenderness,  the  sweetness,  the  genial  play  of 
fancy,  and  the  sad  touch  of  truth,  with  that  glancing  stroke  of  satire  which, 
lightning-like,  illumines  while  it  withers.  The  lectures  were  even  more 
delightful  than  the  books,  because  the  tone  of  the  voice  and  the  appearance 
of  the  man,  the  general  personal  magnetism,  explained  and  alleviated  so 
much  that  would  otherwise  have  seemed  doubtful  or  unfair.  For  those  who 
had  long  felt  in  the  writings  of  Thackeray  a  reality  quite  inexpressible, 
there  was  a  secret  delight  in  finding  it  justified  in  his  speaking;  for  he  speaks 
as  he  writes  —  simply,  directly,  without  flourish,  without  any  cant  of  oratory, 
commending  what  he  says  by  its  intrinsic  sense,  and  the  sympathetic  and 
humane  way  in  which  it  was  spoken."  —  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS, 
"Thackeray  in  America,"  1853.  Literary  and  Social  Essays,  p.  130.  Harper 
&  Brothers,  New  York,  1895.] 


"Jete  sur  cette  boule, 
Laid,  chetif  et  souffrant; 
Etouffe  dans  la  foule, 
Faute  d'etre  assez  grand: 

Une  plainte  touchante 

De  ma  bouche  sortit. 

Le  bon  Dieu  me  dit:    Chante, 

Chante,  pauvre  petit! 

Chanter  ou  je  in'abuse, 
Est  ma  tache  ici-bas. 
Tous  ceux  qu'ainsi  j 'amuse 
Ne  m'aimeront-ils  pas?" 

In  those  charming  lines  of  Beranger  one  may  fancy  described 
the  career,  the  sufferings,  the  'genius,  the  gentle  nature  of  Gold- 
smith, and  the  esteem  in  which  we  hold  him.  Who,  of  the  millions 
whom  he  has  amused,  doesn't  love  him  ?  To  be  the  most  beloved 
of  English  writers,  what  a  title  that  is  for  a  man  !  A  wild  youth, 
wayward  but  full  of  tenderness  and  affection,  quits  the  country 
village  where  his  boyhood  has  been  passed  in  happy  musing,  in 
idle  shelter,  in  fond  longing  to  see  the  great  world  out  of  doors, 
and  achieve  name  and  fortune:  and  after  years  of  dire  struggle 
and  neglect  and  poverty,  his  heart  turning  back  as  fondly  to  his 
native  place  as  it  had  longed  eagerly  for  change  when  sheltered 
there,  he  writes  a  book  and  a  poem,  full  of  the  recollections  and 
feelings  of  home;  he  paints  the  friends  and  scenes  of  his  youth, 
and  peoples  Auburn  and  Wakefield  with  remembrances  of  Lissoy. 
Wander  he  must,  but  he  carries  away  a  home-relic  with  him  and 


320  WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

dies  with  it  on  his  breast.  His  nature  is  truant ;  in  repose  it  longs 
for  change :  as  on  the  journey  it  looks  back  for  friends  and  quiet. 
He  passes  to-day  in  building  an  air-castle  for  to-morrow  or  in 
writing  yesterday's  elegy ;  and  he  would  fly  away  this  hour  but  that 
a  cage  and  necessity  keep  him.  What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of 
his  style,  and  humor?  His  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate  compassion, 
his  soft  smile,  his  tremulous  sympathy,  the  weakness  which  he 
owns  ?  Your  love  for  him  is  half  pity.  You  come  hot  and  tired 
from  the  day's  battle,  and  this  sweet  minstrel  sings  to  you.  Who 
could  harm  the  kind  vagrant  harper?  Whom  did  he  ever  hurt? 
He  carries  no  weapon  —  save  the  harp  on  which  he  plays  to  you, 
and  with  which  he  delights  great  and  humble,  young  and  old,  the 
captains  in  the  tents,  or  the  soldiers  round  the  fire,  or  the  women 
and  children  in  the  villages,  at  whose  porches  he  stops  and  sings 
his  simple  songs  of  love  and  beauty.  With  that  sweet  story  of 
The  Vicar  of  Wakefteld  he  has  found  entry  into  every  castle  and 
every  hamlet  in  Europe.  Not  one  of  us,  however  busy  or  hard, 
but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives  has  passed  an  evening  with  him  and 
undergone  the  charm  of  his  delightful  music. 

Goldsmith's  father  was  no  doubt  the  good  Doctor  Primrose, 
whom  we  all  of  us  know.  Swift  was  yet  alive  when  the  little 
Oliver  w&s  born  at  Pallas,  or  Pallasmore,  in  the  county  of  Long- 
ford, in  Ireland.  In  1730,  two  years  after  the  child's  birth, 
Charles  Goldsmith  removed  his  family  to  Lissoy,  in  the  county 
Westmeath,  that  sweet  " Auburn"  which  every  person  who  hears 
me  has  seen  in  fancy.  Here  the  kind  parson  brought  up  his  eight 
children;  and  loving  all  the  world,  as  his  son  says,  fancied  all 
the  world  loved  him.  He  had  a  crowd  of  poor  dependants  besides 
those  hungry  children.  He  kept  an  open  table,  round  which  sat 
flatterers  and  poor  friends,  who  laughed  at  the  honest  rector's 
many  jokes  and  ate  the  produce  of  his  seventy  acres  of  farm. 
Those  who  have  seen  an  Irish  house  in  the  present  day  can  fancy 
that  one  of  Lissoy.  The  old  beggar  still  has  his  allotted  corner  by  * 
the  kitchen  turf;  the  maimed  old  soldier  still  gets  his  potatoes 
and  buttermilk ;  the  poor  cottier  still  asks  his  Honor's  charity,  and 
prays  God  bless  his  Reverence  for  the  sixpence ;  the  ragged  pen- 
sioner still  takes  his  place  by  right  and  sufferance.  There's  still 
a  crowd  in  the  kitchen,  and  a  crowd  round  the  parlor  table ;  pro- 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  321 

fusion,  confusion,  kindness,  poverty.  If  an  Irishman  comes  to 
London  to  make  his  fortune,  he  has  a  half-dozen  of  Irish  depend- 
ants who  take  a  percentage  of  his  earnings.  The  good  Charles 
Goldsmith  left  but  little  provision  for  his  hungry  race  when  death 
summoned  him;  and  one  of  his  daughters  being  engaged  to  a 
squire  of  rather  superior  dignity,  Charles  Goldsmith  impoverished 
the  rest  of  his  family  to  provide  the  girl  with  a  dowry. 

The  small-pox,  which  scourged  all  Europe  at  that  time,  and 
ravaged  the  roses  off  the  checks  of  half  the  world,  fell  foul  of 
poor  little  Oliver's  face,  when  the  child  was  eight  years  old,  and 
left  him  scarred  and  disfigured  for  his  life.  An  old  woman  in  his 
father's  village  taught  him  his  letters,  and  pronounced  him  a  dunce : 
Paddy  Byrne,  the  hedge-schoolmaster,  took  him  in  hand :  and  from 
Paddy  Byrne  he  was  transmitted  to  a  clergyman  at  Elphin.  When 
a  child  was  sent  to  school  in  those  days,  the  classic  phrase  was  that 
he  was  placed  under  Mr.  So-and-So's  ferule.  Poor  little  ancestors  ! 
It  is  hard  to  think  how  ruthlessly  you  were  birched,  and  how 
much  of  needless  whipping  and  tears  our  small  forefathers  had  to 
undergo !  A  relative,  kind  Uncle  Contarine,  took  the  main 
charge  of  little  Noll,  who  went  through  his  school-days  righteously 
doing  as  little  work  as  he  could :  robbing  orchards,  playing  at  ball, 
and  making  his  pocket-money  fly  about  whenever  fortune  sent  it 
to  him.  Everybody  knows  the  story  of  that  famous  "Mistake  of  a 
Night,"  when  the  young  schoolboy,  provided  with  a  guinea  and  a 
nag,  rode  up  to  the  "best  house"  in  Ardagh,  called  for  the  land- 
lord's company  over  a  bottle  of  wine  at  supper,  and  for  a  hot  cake 
for  breakfast  in  the  morning;  and  found,  when  he  asked  for  the 
bill,  that  the  best  house  was  Squire  Featherstone's,  and  not  the  inn 
for  which  he  mistook  it.  Who  does  not  know  every  story  about 
Goldsmith?  That  is  a  delightful  and  fantastic  picture  of  the 
child  dancing  and  capering  about  in  the  kitchen  at  home,  when  the 
old  fiddler  gibed  at  him  for  his  ugliness  and  called  him  ^Esop ;  and 
little  Noll  made  his  repartee  of  "Heralds  proclaim  aloud  this 
saying  —  See  ^Esop  dancing  and  his  monkey  playing."  One  can 
fancy  a  queer,  pitiful  look  of  humor  and  appeal  upon  that  little 
scarred  face  —  the  funny  little  dancing  figure,  the  funny  little 
brogue.  In  his  life,  and  his  writings,  which  are  the  honest  expres- 
sion of  it,  he  is  constantly  bewailing  that  homely  face  and  person ; 


322  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

anon  he  surveys  them  in  the  glass  ruefully ;  and  presently  assumes 
the  most  comical  dignity.  He  likes  to  deck  out  his  little  person 
in  splendor  and  fine  colors.  He  presented  himself  to  be  examined 
for  ordination  in  a  pair  of  scarlet  breeches;  and  said  honestly 
that  he  did  not  like  to  go  into  the  Church,  because  he  was  fond  of 
colored  clothes.  When  he  tried  to  practise  as  a  doctor,  he  got  by 
hook  or  by  crook  a  black  velvet  suit,  and  looked  as  big  and  grand 
as  he  could,  and  kept  his  hat  over  a  patch  on  the  old  coat :  in  better 
days  he  bloomed  out  in  plum-color,  in  blue  silk,  and  in  new  velvet. 
For  some  of  those  splendors  the  heirs  and  assignees  of  Mr.  Filby, 
the  tailor,  have  never  been  paid  to  this  day:  perhaps  the  kind 
tailor  and  his  creditor  have  met  and  settled  their  little  account 
in  Hades. 

They  showed  until  lately  a  window  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
on  which  the  name  of  "O.  Goldsmith"  was  engraved  with  a  dia- 
mond. Whose  diamond  was  it  ?  Not  the  young  sizar's,  who  made 
but  a  poor  figure  in  that  place  of  learning.  He  was  idle,  penniless, 
and  fond  of  pleasure:  he  learned  his  way  early  to  the  pawn- 
broker's shop.  He  wrote  ballads,  they  say,  for  the  street-singers, 
who  paid  him  a  crown  for  a  poem;  and  his  pleasure  was  to  steal 
out  at  night  and  hear  his  verses  sung.  He  was  chastised  by  his 
tutor  for  giving  a  dance  in  his  rooms,  and  took  the  box  on  the  ear 
so  much  to  heart  that  he  packed  up  his  all,  pawned  his  books  and 
little  property,  and  disappeared  from  college  and  family.  He  said 
he  intended  to  go  to  America ;  but  when  his  money  was  spent,  the 
young  prodigal  came  home  ruefully,  and  the  good  folks  there 
killed  their  calf  —  it  was  but  a  lean  one  —  and  welcomed  him 
back. 

After  college,  he  hung  about  his  mother's  house,  and  lived 
for  some  years  the  life  of  a  buckeen  —  passed  a  month  with  this 
relation  and  that,  a  year  with  one  patron,  a  great  deal  of  time 
at  the  public-house.  Tired  of  this  life,  it  was  resolved  that  he 
should  go  to  London  and  study  at  the  Temple ;  but  he  got  no  far- 
ther on  the  road  to  London  and  the  woolsack  than  Dublin,  where 
he  gambled  away  the  fifty  pounds  given  to  him  for  his  outfit,  and 
whence  he  returned  to  the  indefatigable  forgiveness  of  home. 
Then  he  determined  to  be  a  doctor,  and  Uncle  Contarine  helped 
him  to  a  couple  of  years  at  Edinburgh.  Then  from  Edinburgh 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  323 

he  felt  that  he  ought  to  hear  the  famous  professors  of  Leyden  and 
Paris,  and  wrote  most  amusing  pompous  letters  to  his  uncle  about 
the  great  Farheim,  Du  Petit,  and  Duhamel  du  Monceau,  whose 
lectures  he  proposed  to  follow.  If  Uncle  Co'ntarine  believed  those 
letters ;  if  Oliver's  mother  believed  that  story  which  the  youth  re- 
lated of  his  going  to  Cork,  with  the  purpose  of  embarking  for  Amer- 
ica, of  his  having  paid  his  passage-money  and  having  sent  his  kit 
on  board;  of  the  anonymous  captain  sailing  away  with  Oliver's 
valuable  luggage  in  a  nameless  ship,  never  to  return  —  if  Uncle 
Contarine  and  the  mother  at  Ballymahon  believed  his  stories,  they 
must  have  been  a  very  simple  pair,  as  it  was  a  very  simple  rogue 
indeed  who  cheated  them.  When  the  lad,  after  failing  in  his 
clerical  examination,  after  failing  in  his  plan  for  studying  the  law, 
took  leave  of  these  projects  and  of  his  parents,  and  set  out  for  Edin- 
burgh, he  saw  mother  and  uncle  and  lazy  Ballymahon  and  green 
native  turf  and  sparkling  river  for  the  last  time.  He  was  never  to 
look  on  old  Ireland  more,  and  only  in  fancy  revisit  her. 

"But  me,  not  destined  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care; 
Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  with  the  view; 
That,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies; 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own." 

I  spoke  in  a  former  lecture  of  that  high  courage  which  enabled 
Fielding,  in  spite  of  disease,  remorse,  and  poverty,  always  to  retain 
a  cheerful  spirit,  and  to  keep  his  manly  benevolence  and  love 
of  truth  intact,  as  if  these  treasures  had  been  confided  to  him 
for  the  public  benefit,  and  he  was  accountable  to  posterity  for 
their  honorable  employ;  and  a  constancy  equally  happy  and 
admirable,  I  think,  was  shown  by  Goldsmith,  whose  sweet  and 
friendly  nature  bloomed  kindly  always  in  the  midst  of  a  life's 
storm  and  rain  and  bitter  weather.  The  poor  fellow  was  never 
so  friendless  but  he  could  befriend  some  one,  never  so  pinched 
and  wretched  but  he  could  give  of  his  crust  and  speak  his  word 
of  compassion.  If  he  had  but  his  flute  left,  he  could  give  that, 
and  make  the  children  happy  in  the  dreary  London  court.  He 


324  WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

could  give  the  coals  in  that  queer  coal-scuttle  we  read  of  to  his 
poor  neighbor;  he  could  give  away  his  blankets  in  college  to  the 
poor  widow,  and  warm  himself  as  he  best  might  in  the  feathers ; 
he  could  pawn  his  co'at  to  save  his  landlord  from  jail;  when  he 
was  a  school-usher,  he  spent  his  earnings  in  treats  for  the  boys, 
and  the  good-natured  schoolmaster's  wife  said  justly  that  she 
ought  to  keep  Mr.  Goldsmith's  money  as  well  as  the  young  gentle- 
men's. When  he  met  his  pupils  in  later  life,  nothing  would 
satisfy  the  Doctor  but  he  must  treat  them  still.  "Have  you  seen 
the  print  of  me  after  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  ?"  he  asked  of  one  of 
his  old  pupils.  "Not  seen  it  ?  not  bought  it  ?  Sure,  Jack,  if 
your  picture  had  been  published,  I'd  not  have  been  without  it 
half -an -hour."  His  purse  and  his  heart  were  everybody's,  and 
his  friends'  as  much  as  his  own.  When  he  was  at  the  height  of 
his  reputation,  and  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  going  as  Lord 
Lieutenant  to  Ireland,  asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  service  to 
Doctor  Goldsmith,  Goldsmith  recommended  his  brother,  and  not 
himself,  to  the  great  man.  "My  patrons,"  he  gallantly  said, 
"are  the  booksellers,  and  I  want  no  others."  Hard  patrons  they 
were,  and  hard  work  he  did;  but  he  did  not  complain  much: 
if  in  his  early  writings  some  bitter  words  escaped  him,  some 
allusions  to  neglect  and  poverty,  he  withdrew  these  expressions 
when  his  works  were  republished  and  bette-  days  seemed  to  open 
for  him;  and  he  did  not  care  to  complain  that  printer  or  pub- 
lisher had  overlooked  his  merit  or  left  him  poor.  The  Court 
face  was  turned  from  honest  Oliver  —  the  Court  patronised 
Beattie;  the  fashion  did  not  shine  on  him  —  fashion  adored 
Sterne.  Fashion  pronounced  Kelly  to  be  the  great  writer  of 
comedy  of  his  day.  A  little  —  not  ill-humor,  but  plaintiveness  — 
a  little  betrayal  of  wounded  pride  which  he  showed,  render  him 
not  the  less  amiable.  The  author  of  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield 
had  a  right  to  protest  when  Newbery  kept  back  the  manuscript 
for  two  years;  had  a  right  to  be  a  little  peevish  with  Sterne;  a 
little  angry  when  Coleman's  actors  declined  their  parts  in  his 
delightful  comedy,  when  the  manager  refused  to  have  a  scene 
painted  for  it,  and  pronounced  its  damnation  before  hearing. 
He  had  not  the  great  public  with  him;  but  he  had  the  noble 
Johnson  and  the  admirable  Reynolds  and  the  great  Gibbon  and 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  325 

the  great  Burke  and  the  great  Fox  —  friends  and  admirers  illus- 
trious indeed;  as  famous  as  those  who,  fifty  years  before,  sat 
round  Pope's  table. 

Nobody  knows,  and  I  dare  say  Goldsmith's  buoyant  temper 
kept  no  account  of,  all  the  pains  which  he  endured  during  the 
early  period  of  his  literary  career.  Should  any  man  of  letters 
in  our  day  have  to  bear  up  against  such,  Heaven  grant  he  may 
come  out  of  the  period  of  misfortune  with  such  a  pure,  kind  heart 
as  that  which  Goldsmith  obstinately  bore  in  his  breast.  The 
insults  to  which  he  had  to  submit  are  shocking  to  read  of  — 
slander,  contumely,  vulgar  satire,  brutal  malignity  perverting 
his  commonest  motives  and  actions;  he  had  his  share  of  these, 
and  one's  anger  is  roused  at  reading  of  them,  as  it  is  at  seeing  a 
woman  insulted  or  a  child  assaulted,  at  the  notion  that  a  creature 
so  very  gentle  and  weak  and  full  of  love  should  have  had  to  suffer 
so.  And  he  had  worse  than  insult  to  undergo  —  to  own  to  fault 
and  deprecate  the  anger  of  ruffians.  There  is  a  letter  of  his 
extant  to  one  Griffiths,  a  bookseller,  in  which  poor  Goldsmith  is 
forced  to  confess  that  certain  books  sent  by  Griffiths  are  in  the 
hands  of  a  friend  from  whom  Goldsmith  had  been  forced  to  borrow 
money.  '"He  was  wild,  sir,"  Johnson  said,  speaking  of  Gold- 
smith to  Boswell  with  his  great,  wise  benevolence  and  noble  mer- 
cifulness of  heart,  "Dr.  Goldsmith  was  wild,  sir;  but  he  is  so  no 
more."  Ah !  if  we  pity  the  good  and  weak  man  who  suffers 
undeservedly,  let  us  deal  very  gently  with  him  from  whom  misery 
extorts  not  only  tears  but  shame ;  let  us  think  humbly  and  chari- 
tably of  the  human  nature  that  suffers  so  sadly  and  falls  so  low. 
Whose  turn  may  it  be  to-morrow  ?  What  weak  heart,  confident 
before  trial,  may  not  succumb  under  temptation  invincible  ? 
Cover  the  good  man  who  has  been  vanquished  —  cover  his  f-ace 
and  pass  on. 

For  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life,  Goldsmith  was  far 
removed  from  the  pressure  of  any  ignoble  necessity,  and  in  the 
receipt,  indeed,  of  a  pretty  large  income  from  the  booksellers, 
his  patrons.  Had  he  lived  but  a  few  years  more,  his  public  fame 
would  have  been  as  great  as  his  private  reputation,  and  he  might 
have  enjoyed  alive  a  part  of  that  esteem  which  his  country  has 
ever  since  paid  to  the  vivid  and  versatile  genius  who  has  touched 


326  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

on  almost  every  subject  of  literature,  and  touched  nothing  that  he 
did  not  adorn.  Except  in  rare  instances,  a  man  is  known  in  our 
profession  and  esteemed  as  a  skilful  workman,  years  before  the 
lucky  hit  which  trebles  his  usual  gains  and  stamps  him  a  popular 
author.  In  the  strength  of  his  age  and  the  dawn  of  his  reputation, 
having  for  backers  and  friends  the  most  illustrious  literary  men 
of  his  time,  fame  and  prosperity  might  have  been  in  store  for 
Goldsmith,  had  fate  so  willed  it,  and,  at  forty-six  had  not  sudden 
disease  carried  him  off.  I  say  prosperity  rather  than  competence 
for  it  is  probable  that  no  sum  could  have  put  order  into  his  affairs 
or  sufficed  for  his  irreclaimable  habits  of  dissipation.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  he  owed  £2000  when  he  died.  "Was  ever 
poet,"  Johnson  asked,  "  so  trusted  before?"  As  has  been 
the  case  with  many  another  good  fellow  of  his  nation,  his  life 
was  tracked  and  his  substance  wasted  by  crowds  of  hungry  beggars 
and  lazy  dependants.  If  they  came  at  a  lucky  time  (and  be  sure 
they  knew  his  affairs  better  than  he  did  himself,  and  watched 
his  pay-day),  he  gave  them  of  his  money :  if  they  begged  on  empty- 
purse  days,  he  gave  them  his  promissory  bills;  or  he  treated 
them  to  a  tavern  where  he  had  credit;  or  he  obliged  them  with 
an  order  upon  honest  Mr.  Filby  for  coats,  for  which  he  paid  as 
long  as  he  could  earn  and  until  the  shears  of  Filby  were  to  cut 
for  him  no  more.  Staggering  under  a  load  of  debt  and  labor; 
tracked  by  bailiffs  and  reproachful  creditors;  running  from  a 
hundred  poor  dependants,  whose  appealing  looks  were  perhaps 
the  hardest  of  all  pains  for  him  to  bear;  devising  fevered  plans 
for  the  morrow,  new  histories,  new  comedies,  all  sorts  of  new 
literary  schemes;  flying  from  all  these  into  seclusion,  and  out  of 
seclusion  into  pleasure  —  at  last,  at  five-and-forty,  death  seized 
him  and  closed  his  career.  I  have  been  many  times  in  the  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple  which  were  his,  and  passed  up  the  staircase 
which  Johnson  and  Burke  and  Reynolds  trod  to  see  their  friend, 
their  poet,  their  kind  Goldsmith  —  the  stair  on  which  the  poor 
women  sat  weeping  bitterly  when  they  heard  that  the  greatest 
and  most  generous  of  all  men  was  dead  within  the  black  oak  door. 
Ah,  it  was  a  different  lot  from  that  for  which  the  poor  fellow  sighed 
when  he  wrote,  with  heart  yearning  for  home,  those  most  charm- 
ing of  all  fond  verses,  in  which  he  fancies  he  revisits  Auburn :  — 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  327 

"Here  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 
Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 
In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs  —  and  God  has  given  my  share  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose: 
I  still  had  hopes  —  for  pride  attends  us  still  — 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw; 
And  as  a  hare  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 
O  blest  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Retreats  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine, 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him  no  wretches  born  to  work  and  weep 
Explore  the  mine  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep; 
Nor  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate: 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
Whilst  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way; 
And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past." 

In  these  verses,  I  need  not  say  with  what  melody,  with  what 
touching  truth,  with  what  exquisite  beauty  of  comparison  —  as 
indeed  in  hundreds  more  pages  of  the  writings  of  this  honest 
soul  —  the  whole  character  of  the  man  is  told  —  his  humble  con- 
fession of  faults  and  weakness;  his  pleasant  little  vanity,  and 
desire  that  his  village  should  admire  him;  his  simple  scheme  of 
good  in  which  everybody  was  to  be  happy  —  no  beggar  was  to 
be  refused  his  dinner  —  nobody  in  fact  was  to  work  much,  and 
he  to  be  the  harmless  chief  of  the  Utopia,  and  the  monarch  of 
the  Irish  Yvetot.  He  would  have  told  again,  and  without  fear 
of  their  failing,  those  famous  jokes  which  had  hung  fire  in 


328  WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

London;  he  would  have  talked  of  his  great  friends  of  the 
Club  —  of  my  Lord  Clare  and  my  Lord  Bishop,  my  Lord 
Nugent  —  sure  he  knew  them  intimately,  and  was  hand  and 
glove  with  some  of  the  best  men  in  town  —  and  he  would  have 
spoken  of  Johnson  and  of  Burke,  and  of  Sir  Joshua,  who  had 
painted  him  —  and  he  would  have  told  wonderful  sly  stories  of 
Ranelagh  and  the  Pantheon,  and  the  masquerades  at  Madame 
Cornelys;  and  he  would  have  toasted,  with  a  sigh,  the  Jessamy 
Bride  —  the  lovely  Mary  Horneck. 

The  figure  of  that  charming  young  lady  forms  one  of  the 
prettiest  recollections  of  Goldsmith's  life.  She  and  her  beautiful 
sister,  who  married  Bunbury,  the  graceful  and  humorous  amateur 
artist  of  those  days,  when  Gilray  had  but  just  begun  to  try  his 
powers,  were  among  the  kindest  and  dearest  of  Goldsmith's 
many  friends ;  cheered  and  pitied  him,  travelled  abroad  with  him, 
made  him  welcome  at  their  home,  and  gave  him  many  a  pleasant 
holiday.  He  bought  his  finest  clothes  to  figure  at  their  country- 
house  at  Barton  —  he  wrote  them  droll  verses.  They  loved  him, 
laughed  at  him,  played  him  tricks,  and  made  him  happy.  He 
asked  for  a  loan  from  Garrick,  and  Garrick  kindly  supplied  him, 
to  enable  him  to  go  to  Barton :  but  there  were  to  be  no  more  holi- 
days and  only  one  brief  struggle  more  for  poor  Goldsmith.  A  lock 
of  his  hair  was  taken  from  the  coffin  and  given  to  the  Jessamy  Bride. 
She  lived  quite  into  our  time.  Hazlitt  saw  her,  an  old  lady  but 
beautiful  still,  in  Northcote's  painting-room,  who  told  the  eager 
critic  how  proud  she  always  was  that  Goldsmith  had  admired  her. 

The  younger  Coleman  has  left  a  touching  reminiscence  of  him : 
"I  was  only  five  years  old/'  he  says,  "when  Goldsmith  took  me  on 
his  knee  one  evening  whilst  he  was  drinking  coffee  with  my  father, 
and  began  to  play  with  me,  which  amiable  act  I  returned,  with 
the  ingratitude  of  a  peevish  brat,  by  giving  him  a  very  smart  slap 
on  the  face :  it  must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  it  left  the  marks  of  my 
spiteful  paw  on  his  cheek.  This  infantile  outrage  was  followed 
by  summary  justice,  and  I  was  locked  up  by  my  indignant  father 
in  an  adjoining  room  to  undergo  solitary  imprisonment  in  the  dark. 
Here  I  began  to  howl  and  scream  most  abominably,  which  was  no 
bad  step  towards  my  liberation,  since  those  who  were  not  inclined 
to  pity  me  might  be  likely  to  set  me  free  for  abating  a  nuisance. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  329 

At  length  a  generous  friend  appeared  to  extricate  me  from  jeop- 
ardy, and  that  generous  friend  was  no  other  than  the  man  I  had  so 
wantonly  molested  by  assault  and  battery — it  was  the  tender-hearted 
Doctor  himself,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  and  a  smile  upon 
his  countenance,  which  was  still  partially  red  from  the  effects  of 
my  petulance.  I  sulked  and  sobbed  as  he  fondled  and  soothed, 
till  I  began  to  brighten.  Goldsmith  seized  the  propitious  moment 
of  returning  good-humour,  when  he  put  down  the  candle  and  began 
to  conjure.  He  placed  three  hats,  which  happened  to  be  in  the 
room,  and  a  shilling  under  each.  The  shillings  he  told  me  were 
England,  France,  and  Spain.  'Hey  presto  cockalorum!'  cried 
the  Doctor,  and  lo,  on  uncovering  the  shillings,  which  had  been 
dispersed  each  beneath  a  separate  hat,  they  were  all  found  con- 
gregated under  one.  I  was  no  politician  at  five  years  old,  and 
therefore  might  not  have  wondered  at  the  sudden  revolution  which 
brought  England,  France,  and  Spain  all  under  one  crown ;  but  as 
also  I  was  no  con  juror,  it  amazed  me  beyond  measure.  .  .  .  From 
that  time,  whenever  the  Doctor  came  to  visit  my  father,  'I  plucked 
his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile' ;  a  game  at  romps  constantly 
ensued,  and  we  were  always  cordial  friends  and  merry  playfellows. 
Our  unequal  companionship  varied  somewhat  as  to  sports  as  I 
grew  older ;  but  it  did  not  last  long :  my  senior  playmate  died  in 
his  forty-fifth  year,  when  I  had  attained  my  eleventh.  ...  In  all 
the  numerous  accounts  of  his  virtues  and  foibles,  his  genius  and 
absurdities,  his  knowledge  of  nature  and  ignorance  of  the  world,  his 
'compassion  for  another's  woe'  was  always  predominant;  and  my 
trivial  story  of  his  humoring  a  froward  child  weighs  but  as  a  feather 
in  the  recorded  scale  of  his  benevolence." 

Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless,  vain,  if  you  like — but  merciful, 
gentle,  generous,  full  of  love  and  pity.  He  passes  out  of  our  life, 
and  goes  to  render  his  account  beyond  it.  Think  of  the  poor 
pensioners  weeping  at  his  grave;  think  of  the  noble  spirits  that 
admired  and  deplored  him ;  think  of  the  righteous  pen  that  wrote 
his  epitaph  —  and  of  the  wonderful  and  unanimous  response 
of  affection  with  which  the  world  has  paid  back  the  love  he  gave 
it.  His  humor  delighting  us  still,  his  song  fresh  and  beautiful  as 
when  first  he  charmed  with  it,  his  words  in  all  our  mouths,  his 
very  weaknesses  beloved  and  familiar  —  his  benevolent  spirit 


330  SIDNEY    LEE 

seems  still  to  smile  upon  us,  to  do  gentle  kindnesses,  to  succor 
with  sweet  charity,  to  soothe,  caress,  and  forgive,  to  plead  with  the 
fortunate  for  the  unhappy  and  the  poor. 


THE    LIFE    OF    SIR    WALTER    RALEGH 

SIDNEY  LEE 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

RALEGH,  SIR  WALTER  (i552?-i6i8),  military  and  naval  com- 
mander and  author,  was  born  about  1552  at  Hayes  or  Hayes  Bar- 
ton, near  Budleigh  Salterton,  South  Devonshire  (for  description 
of  birthplace  see  Trans,  of  Devonshire  Association,  xxi.  312-20). 
His  father,  Walter  Ralegh  (i496?-i58i),  a  country  gentleman, 
was  originally  settled  at  Fardell,  near  Plymouth,  where  he  owned 
property  at  his  death;  he  removed  about  1520  to  Hayes,  where  he 
leased  an  estate,  and  spent  the  last  years  of  his  long  life  at  Exeter. 
He  narrowly  escaped  death  in  the  western  rebellion  of  1549, 
was  church-warden  of  East  Budleigh  in  1561,  and  is  perhaps  the 
'Walter  Rawley'  who  represented  Wareham  in  the  parliament 
of  1558.  He  was  buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Mary  Major,  Exeter, 
on  23  Feb.  1580-1.  He  married  thrice:  first,  about  1518, 
Joan,  daughter  of  John  Drake  of  Exmouth,  and  probably  first 
cousin  of  Sir  Francis  Drake;  secondly,  a  daughter  of  Darrell  of 
London;  and,  thirdly,  after  1548,  Katharine,  daughter  of  Sir 
Philip  Champernowne  of  Modbury,  and  widow  of  Otho  Gilbert 
(d.  18  Feb.  1547)  of  Compton,  near  Dartmouth. 

By  his  first  wife  the  elder  Ralegh  had  two  sons:  George,  who 
is  said  to  have  furnished  a  ship  to  meet  the  Spanish  armada  in 
1588,  and  was  buried  at  Withycombe  Ralegh  on  12  March  1596-7, 
leaving  issue  believed  to  be  illegitimate;  and  John,  who  succeeded 
to  the  family  property  at  Fardell,  and  died  at  a  great  age  in  1629. 
Mary,  the  only  child  of  the  second  marriage,  was  wife  of  Hugh 
Snedale.  By  his  third  wife,  Katharine  (d.  1594),  whose  will,  dated 
ii  May  1594,  is  in  the  probate  registry  at  Exeter,  the  elder  Ralegh 
had,  together  with  a  daughter  Margaret  and  Walter,  the  subject 
of  this  notice, 


THE   LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  331 

SIR  CAREW  RALEGH  (i55o?-i625?),  Sir  Walter's  elder  brother 
of  the  whole  blood.  Carew  engaged  in  1578  in  the  expedition  of 
his  half-brother,  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  [q.  v.],1  and  figured  with 
Sir  Walter  and  his  two  elder  half-brothers,  George  and  John,  on 
the  list  of  sea-captains  drawn  up  in  consequence  of  rumours  of  a 
Spanish  invasion  in  January  1585-6.  He  sat  in  parliament  as 
member  for  Wiltshire  in  1586,  for  Ludgershall  in  1589,  for  Down- 
ton  both  in  1603-4  and  in  1621,  and  he  was  knighted  by  Queen 
Elizabeth  in  1601  at  Basing  House/  For  some  time  he  was  gentle- 
man of  the  horse  to  John  Thynne  of  Longleat,  and  on  Thynne's 
death  he  married  his  widow,  Dorothy,  daughter  of  Sir  William 
Wroughton  of  Broad  Heighten,  Wiltshire.  On  his  marriage  he 
sold  his  property  in  Devonshire,  and  settled  at  Downton  House, 
near  Salisbury.  Until  1625  he  was  lieutenant  of  the  Isle  of  Port- 
land (cf.  Col.  State  Papers,  Dom.  1608-25).  Aubrey  says  of  him 
that  he  '  had  a  delicate  clear  voice,  and  played  skilfully  on  the 
olpharion'  (Letters,  ii.  510).  His  second  son,  Walter  (1586-1646), 
is  separately  noticed. 

Through  his  father  and  mother,  who  are  both  credited  by  tra- 
dition with  puritan  predilections,  Walter  Ralegh  was  connected 
with  many  distinguished  Devon  and  Cornish  families  —  the 
Courtenays,  Grenvilles,  St.  Legers,  Russells,  Drakes,  and  Gilberts. 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  was  his  mother's  son  by  her  first  husband. 
His  early  boyhood  seems  to  have  been  spent  at  Hayes,  and  he  may 
have  been  sent  to  school  at  Budleigh;  Sidmouth  and  Ottery  St. 
Mary  have  also  been  suggested  as  scenes  of  his  education.  It  was 
doubtless  by  association  with  the  sailors  on  the  beach  at  Bud- 
leigh Salterton  that  he  imbibed  the  almost  instinctive  understand- 
ing of  the  sea  that  characterises  his  writings.  Sir  John  Millais, 
in  his  picture  'The  Boyhood  of  Ralegh/  painted  at  Budleigh 
Salterton  in  1870,  represents  him  sitting  on  the  seashore  at  the  foot 
of  a  sunburnt  sailor,  who  is  narrating  his  adventures.  He  cer- 
tainly learnt  to  speak  with  the  broadest  of  Devonshire  accents, 
which  he  retained  through  life.  From  childhood  he  was,  says 
Naunton,  'an  indefatigable  reader.'  At  the  age  of  fourteen  or 
fifteen  he  would  seem  to  have  gone  to  Oxford,  where  he  was, 

1  The  letters  q.  v.   (quern  vide)  refer  to  other  articles  in  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography. 


332  SIDNEY   LEE 

according  to  Wood,  in  residence  for  three  years  as  a  member  of 
Oriel  College.  His  name  appears  in  the  college  books  in  1572,  but 
the  dates  and  duration  of  his  residence  are  uncertain. 

In  1569  Ralegh  sought  adventures  in  France  as  a  volunteer  in 
the  Huguenot  army.  With  it  he  was  present  in  the  battle  of 
Jarnac  (13  March),  and  again  at  Moncontour  (Hist,  of  the  World, 
v.  ii.  3,  8).  It  has  been  conjectured  that  on  24  Aug.  1572,  the  day 
of  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  he  was  in  Paris;  it  is  more 
probable  that  he  was  in  the  south  of  France,  where,  according  to  his 
own  testimony,  he  saw  the  catholics  smoked  out  of  the  caves  in 
the  Languedoc  hills  (ib.  iv.  ii.  16).  It  is  stated  authoritatively  that 
he  remained  in  France  for  upwards  of  five  years,  but  nothing  fur- 
ther is  known  of  his  experiences  there  (OLDYS,  p.  21).  In  the 
spring  of  1576  he  was  in  London,  and  in  a  copy  of  congratulatory 
verses  which  he  prefixed  to  the  'Steele  Glas'  of  George  Gas- 
coigne  [q.  v.],  published  in  April  1576,  he  is  described  as  'of  the 
Middle  Temple.'  It  may  be  supposed  that  he  was  only  'a  pass- 
ing lodger ; '  he  has  himself  stated  that  he  was  not  a  law  student 
(Works,  i.  669).  In  December  1577  he  appears  to  have  had  a 
residence  at  Islington,  and  been  known  as  a  hanger-on  of  the  court 
(GossE,  p.  6).  It  is  possible  that  in  1577  or  1578  he  was  in  the 
Low  Countries  under  Sir  John  Norris  or  Norreys  [q.  v.],  and  was 
present  in  the  brilliant  action  of  Rymenant  on  i  Aug.  1578  (OLDYS, 
p.  25) ;  but  the  statement  is  conjectural. 

In  April  1578  he  was  in  England  (Trans,  of  the  Devonshire 
Association,  xv.  174),  and  in  September  he  was  at  Dartmouth, 
where  he  joined  his  half-brother  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  in  fitting 
out  a  fleet  of  eleven  ships  for  a  so-called  voyage  of  discovery. 
After  tedious  delays,  only  seven,  three  of  which  were  very  small, 
finally  sailed  on  19  Nov.  That  the  'voyage  of  discovery'  was 
a  mere  pretence  may  be  judged  by  the  armament  of  the  ships, 
which  according  to  the  standard  of  the  age,  was  very  heavy. 
Gilbert  commanded  the  Admiral,  of  250  tons;  Carew,  Ralegh's 
elder  brother,  commanded  the  Vice- Admiral ;  Ralegh  himself 
the  Falcon  of  100  tons,  with  the  distinguishing  motto,  '  Nee  mor- 
tem peto,  nee  finem  fugio'  (cf.  State  Papers,  Dom.  Elizabeth, 
cxxvi.  46,  i.  49;  cf.  McDouGALL,  Voyage  of  the  Resolute,  pp. 
520-6).  It  is  probable  that  Gilbert  went  south  to  the  Azores, 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  333 

or  even  to  the  West  Indies.  After  an  indecisive  engagement  with 
some  Spaniards,  the  expedition  was  back  at  Dartmouth  in  the 
spring  of  1579  (HAKLUYT,  Principal  Navigations,  iii.  186). 

A  few  months  later  Ralegh  was  at  the  court,  on  terms  of  intimacy 
at  once  with  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  with  Leicester's  bitter 
enemy  and  Burghley's  disreputable  son-in-law,  the  Earl  of  Oxford. 
At  Oxford's  request  he  carried  a  challenge  to  Leicester's  nephew, 
Sir  Philip  Sidney,  which  Sidney  accepted,  but  Oxford  refused  to 
fight,  and,  it  is  said,  proposed  to  have  Sidney  assassinated.  Ra- 
legh's refusal  to  assist  in  this  wicked  business  bred  a  coldness 
between  him  and  Oxford,  which  deepened  on  the  latter's  part 
into  deadly  hatred  (ST.  JOHN,  i.  48).  But  Ralegh's  temper  was 
hot  enough  to  involve  him  in  like  broils  on  his  own  account.  In 
February  1579-80  he  was  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with  Sir  Thomas 
Perrot,  and  on  the  7th  the  two  were  brought  before  the  lords  of 
the  council  'for  a  fray  made  betwixt  them,'  and  'committed 
prisoners  to  the  Fleet.'  Six  days  later  they  were  released  on 
finding  sureties  for  their  keeping  the  peace  (ib.  i.  50),  but  on  17 
March  Ralegh  and  one  Wingfield  were  committed  to  the  Mar- 
shalsea  for  'a  fray  beside  the  tennis-court  at  Westminster'  (Acts 
of  Privy  Council,  xi.  421). 

Next  June  Ralegh  sailed  for  Ireland  as  the  captain  of  a  company 
of  one  hundred  soldiers.  The  friendship  of  Leicester,  and,  through 
Sidney,  of  Walsingham,  brought  him  opportunities  of  personal 
distinction.  In  August  he  was  joined  in  commission  with  Sir 
Warham  St.  Leger  for  the  trial  of  James  Fitzgerald,  brother  of 
the  Earl  of  Desmond,  who  was  sentenced  and  put  to  death  as  a 
traitor.  Ralegh  expressed  the  conviction  that  leniency  to  bloody- 
minded  malefactors  was  cruelty  to  good  and  peaceable  subjects 
(ib.  i.  38).  When,  in  November,  the  lord  deputy,  Grey,  forced  the 
Spanish  and  Italian  adventurers,  who  had  built  and  garrisoned  the 
Fort  del  Oro  at  Smerwick,  to  surrender  at  discretion,  Ralegh  had 
no  scruples  about  carrying  out  the  lord  deputy's  order  to  put  them 
to  the  sword,  to  the  number  of  six  hundred  (ib.  i.  40)  [see  GREY, 
ARTHUR,  fourteenth  LORD  GREY  DE  WILTON].  Although  the 
exploit  has  the  aspect  of  a  cold-blooded  butchery,  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  the  Spaniards  were  legally  pirates,  who  had  with- 
out valid  commissions  stirred  up  the  native  Irish  to  rebellion,  and 


334  SIDNEY  LEE 

that  English  adventurers  in  the  same  legal  position  on  the  Spanish 
main  [cf.  OXENHAM,  JOHN],  although  they  were  free  from  the 
added  imputation  of  inciting  to  rebellion,  had  been  mercilessly 
slain.  The  only  fault  found  by  the  queen  was  that  the 
superior  officers  had  been  spared  (Cal.  State  Papers,  Ire- 
land, Ixxix.  13).  Edmund  Spenser  [q.  v.],  who  was  pres- 
ent at  Smerwick,  approved  of  Grey's  order  and  of  Ralegh's 
obedience  (View  of  the  Present  State  of  Ireland,  Globe  edit, 
p.  656),  and  Mendoza,  the  Spanish  ambassador  in  London,  ventured 
on  no  remonstrance  (FROUDE,  Hist,  of  England,  Cabinet  edit.  x. 
582-91). 

During  the  campaign  Spenser  and  Ralegh  were  necessarily 
brought  together,  but  it  does  not  appear  that  any  intimacy  then 
sprang  up  between  them,  and  in  January  Ralegh  was  sent  into 
garrison  at  Cork,  where,  except  for  an  occasional  journey  to  Dub- 
lin to  confer  with  Grey  or  a  dashing  skirmish,  he  lay  till  the  end  of 
July.  He  was  then  appointed  one  of  a  temporary  commission  for 
the  government  of  Munster,  which  established  its  headquarters 
at  Lismore,  and  thence  kept  the  whole  province  in  hand.  It  was 
apparently  in  November  that  Ralegh,  on  his  way  from  Lismore 
to  Cork  with  eight  horse  and  eighty  foot,  was  attacked  by  a 
numerous  body  of  Irish.  They  could  not,  however,  stand  before 
the  disciplined  strength  of  the  English,  and  fled.  Ralegh,  hotly 
pursuing  them  with  his  small  body  of  horse,  got  in  among  a  crowd 
of  the  fugitives,  who  turned  to  bay,  and  fought  fiercely,  stabbing 
the  horses  with  their  knives.  Ralegh's  horse  was  killed,  and 
Ralegh,  entangled  under  the  falling  animal,  owed  delivery  from 
imminent  danger  to  the  arrival  of  reinforcements.  This  marked 
the  end,  for  the  time,  of  Ralegh's  Irish  service. 

In  the  beginning  of  December  1581  he  was  sent  to  England  with 
despatches  from  Colonel  Zouch,  the  new  governor  of  Munster, 
and,  coming  to  the  court,  then  at  Greenwich,  happened  to  attract 
the  notice  a#id  catch  the  fancy  of  the  queen.  There  is  nothing 
improbable  in  the  story  of  his  spreading  his  new  plush  cloak  over 
a  muddy  road  for  the  queen  to  walk  on.  The  evidence  on  which 
it  is  based  (FULLER,  Worthies)  is  shadowy ;  but  the  incident  is  in 
keeping  with  Ralegh's  quick,  decided  resolution,  and  it  is  certain 
that  Ralegh  sprang  with  a  sudden  bound  into  the  royal  favour. 


THE   LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  335 

Fuller's  other  story  of  his  writing  on  a  window  of  the  palace, 
with  a  diamond, 

Fain  would  I  climb,  yet  fear  I  to  fall 

and  of  Elizabeth's  replying  to  it  with 

If  thy  heart  fails  thee,  climb  not  at  all, 

rests  on  equally  weak  testimony,  and  is  inherently  improbable. 
Naunton's  story  that  Ralegh  first  won  the  queen's  favour  by  the 
ability  he  showed  in  pleading  his  cause  before  the  council  has  been 
satisfactorily  disproved  by  Edwards  (i.  49).  It,  in  fact,  appears 
that  a  handsome  figure  and  face  were  his  real  credentials.  He  was 
under  thirty,  tall,  well-built,  of  'a  good  presence,'  with  thick  dark 
hair,  a  bright  complexion,  and  an  expression  full  of  life.  His 
dress,  too,  was  at  all  times  magnificent,  to  the  utmost  limit  of  his 
purse;  and,  when  called  on  to  speak,  he  answered  'with  a  bold 
and  plausible  tongue,  whereby  he  could  set  out  his  parts  to  the 
best  advantage.'  He  had,  moreover,  the  reputation  of  a  bold  and 
dashing  partisan,  ingenious  and  daring;  fearless  alike  in  the  field 
and  in  the  council-chamber,  a  man  of  a  stout  heart  and  a  sound 
head. 

For  several  years  Ralegh  belonged  to  the  court,  the  recipient 
of  the  queen's  bounties  and  favour  to  an  extent  which  gave  much 
occasion  for  scandal.  He  was  indeed  consulted  as  to  the  affairs 
of  Ireland,  and  Grey's  rejection  of  his  advice  was  a  chief  cause  of 
Grey's  recall;  but  such  service,  in  itself  a  mark  of  the  queen's 
confidence,  does  not  account  for  the  numerous  appointments  and 
grants  which,  within  a  few  years,  raised  him  from  the  position  of 
a  poor  gentleman-adventurer  to  be  one  of  the  most  wealthy  of 
the  courtiers.  Among  other  patents  and  monopolies,  he  was 
granted,  in  May  1583,  that  of  wine  licenses,  which  brought  him 
in  from  8oo/.  to  2,ooo/.  a  year,  though  it  involved  him  in  a  dispute 
with  the  vice-chancellor  of  Cambridge,  on  whose  jurisdiction  his 
lessee  had  encroached.  In  1584  he  was  knighted,  and  in  1585 
was  appointed  warden  of  the  stannaries,  that  is  of  the  mines  of 
Cornwall  and  Devon,  lord  lieutenant  of  Cornwall,  and  vice-admiral 
of  the  two  counties.  Both  in  1585  and  1586  he  sat  in  parliament  as 
member  for  Devonshire.  In  1586,  too,  he  obtained  the  grant  of 


336  SIDNEY   LEE 

a  vast  tract  of  land  —  some  forty  thousand  acres  in  Cork,  Water- 
ford,  and  Tipperary.  The  grant  included  Youghal,  with  manorial 
rights  and  the  salmon  fishery  of  the  Blackwater,  and  Ralegh 
began  building  houses  at  both  Youghal  and  Lismore.  He  was 
also  appointed  captain  of  the  queen's  guard,  an  office  requiring 
immediate  attendance  on  the  queen's  person.  In  1587  he  was 
granted  estates  in  Lincolnshire,  Derbyshire,  and  Nottinghamshire, 
forfeited  by  Babington  and  his  fellow-conspirators. 

Ralegh,  however,  was  ill-fitted  to  spend  his  life  in  luxury  and 
court  intrigue,  of  which,  as  the  queen's  favourite,  he  was  the  centre. 
His  jurisdiction  of  the  stannaries  marked  an  era  of  reform,  and 
the  rules  which  he  laid  down  continued  long  in  force.  As  vice- 
admiral  of  the  western  counties,  with  his  half-brother  Sir  John 
Gilbert  as  his  deputy  in  Devon,  he  secured  a  profitable  share  in 
the  privateering  against  Spain,  which  was  conducted  under  cover 
of  commissions  from  the  Prince  of  Conde  or  from  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  In  1583  he  had  a  large  interest  in  the  Newfoundland 
voyage  of  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  fitting  out  a  vessel  of  two  hundred 
tons,  called  the  Bark  Ralegh,  which  he  had  intended  to  command 
himself,  till  positively  forbidden  by  his  royal  mistress.  After  Gil- 
bert's death  he  applied  for  a  patent  similar  to  that  which  Gilbert 
had  held  —  to  discover  unknown  lands,  to  take  possession  of  them 
in  the  queen's  name,  and  to  hold  them  for  six  years.  This  was 
granted  on  25  March  1584,  and  in  April  he  sent  out  a  preliminary 
expedition  under  Philip  Amadas  and  Arthur  Barlow,  who,  taking 
the  southern  route  by  the  West  Indies  and  the  coast  of  Florida,  made 
the  land  to  the  southward  of  Cape  Hatteras.  They  then  coasted 
northwards,  entered  the  Oregon  Inlet,  and  in  the  queen's  name 
took  possession  of  Wokoken,  Roanoke,  and  the  mainland  adjacent. 
To  this  region,  on  their  return  in  September,  the  queen  herself 
gave  the  name  of  Virginia,  then,  and  for  many  years  afterwards, 
applied  to  'the  whole  seaboard  of  the  continent,  from  Florida  to 
Newfoundland. 

Ralegh  now  put  forward  the  idea,  possibly  conceived  years  before 
in  intercourse  with  Coligny  (BESANT,  Gaspard  Coligny,  chap,  vii.), 
of  establishing  a  colony  in  the  newly  discovered  country ;  and,  as 
the  queen  would  not  allow  him  to  go  in  person,  the  expedition 
sailed  in  April,  1585,  under  the  command  of  his  cousin,  Sir  Richard 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  337 

Grenville  or  Greynvile  [q.  v.],  with  Ralph  Lane  [q.  v.]  as  governor 
of  the  colony,  and  Thomas  Harriot  [q.  v.],  who  described  himself 
as  Ralegh's  servant,  as  surveyor.  The  rules  for  its  government 
were  drawn  up  by  Ralegh ;  but  quarrels,  in  the  first  instance  be- 
tween Lane  and  Grenville  and  afterwards  between  the  English 
settlers  and  the  natives,  rendered  the  scheme  abortive,  and  in  June 
1586  the  settlement  was  evacuated,  the  colonists  being  carried 
home  by  the  fleet  under  Sir  Francis  Drake.  Ralegh  had  mean- 
time sent  Grenville  out  with  reinforcements  and  supplies ;  but,  as 
he  found  the  place  deserted,  he  came  back,  leaving  fifteen  men  on 
Roanoke.  In  the  summer  of  1587  another  and  larger  expedition 
was  sent  out  under  the  command  of  John  White,  who,  when 
supplies  ran  short,  came  home,  leaving  eighty-nine  men,  seventeen 
women,  and  two  children,  including  his  own  daughter  and  her 
child.  Ralegh  fitted  out  two  ships  in  the  following  spring,  but 
the  captains  converted  the  expedition  into  a  privateering  cruise, 
and,  after  being  roughly  handled  by  some  Rochelle  men-of-war, 
they  came  back  to  England.  When,  in  1589,  a  tardy  relief  was 
sent,  the  colonists  had  disappeared,  nor  was  any  trace  of  them  ever 
recovered;  and  Ralegh,  having  spent  upwards  of  4o,ooo/.  in  the 
attempt  to  found  the  colony,  was  compelled  to  abandon  the  project 
for  the  time.  In  after  years  he  sent  out  other  expeditions  to  Vir- 
ginia, the  latest  in  1603.  On  his  downfall  in  that  year  his  patent 
reverted  to  the  crown. 

It  is  by  his  long,  costly,  and  persistent  effort  to  establish  this 
first  of  English  colonies  that  Ralegh's  name  is  most  favourably 
known ;  and,  though  the  effort  ended  in  failure,  to  Ralegh  belongs 
the  credit  of  having,  first  of  Englishmen,  pointed  out  the  way  to 
the  formation  of  a  greater  England  beyond  the  seas.  But  he  had 
no  personal  share  in  the  actual  expeditions,  and  he  was  never  in 
his  whole  life  near  the  coast  of  Virginia.  Among  the  more  immedi- 
ate results  of  his  endeavours  is  popularly  reckoned  the  introduction, 
about  1586,  into  England  of  potatoes  and  tobacco.  The  assertion 
is  in  part  substantiated.  His  'servant'  Harriot,  whom  he  sent 
out  to  America,  gives  in  his  'Brief  and  True  Report  of  Virginia,' 
(1588)  a  detailed  account  of  the  potato  and  tobacco,  and  describes 
the  uses  to  which  the  natives  put  them;  he  himself  made  the  experi- 
ment of  smoking  tobacco.  The  potato  and  tobacco  were  in  1596 


338  SIDNEY   LEE 

growing  as  rare  plants  in  Lord  Burghley's  garden  in  the  Strand 
(GERARD,  Catalogus,  1596).  In  his  'Herbal'  (1597,  pp.  286-8, 
781)  Gerard  gives  an  illustration  and  description  of  each. 
Although  potatoes  had  at  a  far  earlier  period  been  brought  to 
Europe  by  the  Spaniards,  Harriot's  specimens  were  doubtless  the 
earliest  to  be  planted  in  this  kingdom.  Some  of  them  Ralegh 
planted  in  his  garden  at  Youghal,  and  on  that  ground  he  may  be 
regarded  as  one  of  Ireland's  chief  benefactors.  This  claim  is 
supported  by  the  statement  made  to  the  Royal  Society  in  1693  by 
Sir  Robert  Southwell  [q.  v.],  then  president,  to  the  effect  that  his 
grandfather  first  cultivated  the  potato  in  Ireland  from  specimens 
given  him  by  Ralegh  (G.  W.  JOHNSON,  Gardener,  1849,  i-  8). 
The  cultivation  spread  rapidly  in  Ireland,  but  was  uncommon  in 
England  until  the  eighteenth  century.  The  assertion  that  Sir 
John  Hawkins  and  Sir  Francis  Drake  introduced  the  potato  long 
before  Ralegh  initiated  colonial  enterprise  appears  to  be  erroneous. 
It  seems  that  they  brought  over  in  1565  some  specimens  of  the 
sweet  potato  (convolvolus  battata),  which  only  distantly  resembles 
the  common  potato  (ALPHONSE  DE  CANDOLLE,  Origin  of  Culti- 
vated Plants,  1884;  CLOS,  'Quelques  documents  sur  1'histoire 
de  la  pomme  de  terre,'  in  Journal  Agric.  du  midi  de  la  France, 
1874,  8vo).  With  regard  to  tobacco,  the  plant  was  cultivated  in 
Portugal  before  1560,  and  Lobel,  in  his  'Stirpium  Adversaria 
Nova'  (pp.  251-2),  declares  that  it  was  known  in  England  before 
1576.  Drake  and  Hawkins  seem  to  have  first  brought  the  leaf 
to  England  from  America;  but  Ralegh  (doubtless  under  the 
tuition  of  Harriot)  was  the  first  Englishman  of  rank  to  smoke  it; 
he  soon  became  confirmed  in  the  habit,  and  taught  his  fellow- 
courtiers  to  follow  his  example,  presenting  to  them  pipes  with 
bowls  of  silver.  The  practice  spread  with  amazing  rapidity 
among  all  classes  of  the  nation  (CAMDEN,  Annals,  s.a.  1586; 
TIEDEMANN,  Geschichte  des  Tabaks,  1854,  pp.  148  sq. ;  FAIRHOLT, 
Tobacco,  1859,  pp.  50-1;  cf.  GERARD,  Herbal,  1597,  p.  289). 

In  March  1588,  when  the  Spanish  invasion  appeared  imminent, 

Ralegh  was  appointed  one  of  a  commission  under  the  presidency 

of  Sir  Francis  Knollys,  with  Lord  Grey,  Sir  John  Norris,  and  others 

—  all  land  officers,  with  the  exception  of  Sir  Francis  Drake  —  to 

draw  up  a  plan  for  the  defence  of  the  country  (Western  Antiquary, 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  339 

vii.  276).  The  statement  that  it  was  by  Ralegh's  advice  that  the 
queen  determined  to  fit  out  the  fleet  is  unsupported  by  evidence 
(STEERING,  p.  65).  The  report  of  the  commission  seems  to  trust 
the  defence  of  the  country  entirely  to  the  land  forces,  possibly 
because  its  instruction  referred  only  to  their  disposition.  It  no- 
where appears  that  Ralegh  had  any  voice  as  to  the  naval  prepara- 
tions. As  the  year  advanced,  he  was  sent  into  different  parts  of 
the  country  to  hurry  on  the  levies  (GosSE,  p.  38),  especially  in  the 
west,  where,  as  warden  of  the  stannaries  and  lord  lieutenant  of 
Cornwall,  it  was  his  duty  to  embody  the  militia. 

It  is  stated  in  every  'Life'  of  Ralegh  that  when  the  contending 
fleets  were  coming  up  Channel,  Ralegh  was  one  of  the  volunteers 
who  joined  the  lord  admiral  and  took  a  more  or  less  prominent 
part  in  the  subsequent  fighting.  Of  this  there  is  no  mention  in  the 
English  state  papers  or  in  the  authentic  correspondence  of  the 
time.  Nor  can  any  reliance  be  placed  on  the  report  that  Ralegh 
took  part  in  the  naval  operations  mentioned  in  the  'Copie  of  a 
Letter  sent  out  of  England  to  Don  Bernardin  Mendoza'  (1588, 
and  often  reprinted)  (cf.  A  Pack  of  Spanish  Lies).  This  doubtful 
authority  also  credits  Robert  Cecil  with  having  joined  the  fleet  — 
a  manifest  misstatement  (Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada,  i.  342). 

In  the  early  part  of  September  Ralegh  was  in  Cornwall ;  after- 
wards in  London,  and  about  the  ipth  he  crossed  over  to  Ireland 
in  company  with  Sir  Richard  Grenville  (State  Papers,  Dom. 
ccxv.  64,  ccxvi.  28,  Ireland,  14  Sept.;  Sir  Thomas  Heneage  to 
Carew,  19  Sept.,  Carew  MSS.),  By  December  he  was  again  at 
court,  and  came  into  conflict  with  the  queen's  new  favourite  Es- 
sex. The  latter  strove  to  drive  Ralegh  from  court,  and  on  some 
unknown  pretext  sent  him  a  challenge,  which  the  lords  of  the  coun- 
cil prevented  his  accepting,  wishing  the  whole  business  'to  be 
repressed  and  to  be  buried  in  silence  that  it  may  not  be  known 
to  her  Majesty'  (State  Papers,  Dom.  ccxix.  33)  [see  DEVEREUX, 
ROBERT,  second  EARL  OF  ESSEX].  The  statement  that  in  the 
early  summer  of  1589  Ralegh  took  part  in  the  expedition  to  Por- 
tugal under  Drake  and  Norris  (OLDYS,  p.  119)  is  virtually  contra- 
dicted by  the  full  and  authoritative  documents  relating  to  the  ex- 
pedition (cf.  State  Papers,  Dom.  ccxxii.  90,  97,  98,  ccxxiii.  35,  55). 
In  May  1589  Ralegh  was  in  Ireland  (ib.  Ireland,  cxliv.  27,  28), 


340  SIDNEY  LEE 

and  possibly  continued  there  during  the  summer;  he  was  cer- 
tainly there  in  August  and  September  (Cal.  Carew  MSS.  5,  24 
Aug.).  To  this  period  may  be  referred  his  intimacy  with  Edmund 
Spenser  [q.  v.],  who  bestowed  on  him  in  his  poems  the  picturesque 
appellation  of  'The  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean.'  Ralegh  returned 
to  court  in  October,  and,  taking  Spenser  with  him,  se- 
cured for  the  poet  a  warm  welcome  from  the  queen.  Ralegh's 
stay  at  court  was  short.  His  departure  was  apparently  due  to 
some  jealousy  of  Sir  William  Fitzwilliam,  lord  deputy  of  Ireland, 
a  friend  of  Essex,  with  whom  he  had  quarrelled  in  Ireland.  On 
28  Dec.  he  wrote  to  Carew,  'My  retreat  from  the  court  was  upon 
good  cause.  .  .  .  When  Sir  William  Fitzwilliam  shall  be  in 
England,  I  take  myself  for  his  better  by  the  honourable  offices  I 
hold,  as  also  by  that  nearness  to  her  Majesty  which  still  I  enjoy ' 
(CaL  Carew  MSS. ;  cf .  Notes  and  Queries,  3rd  ser.  iv.  3) . 

Court  intrigues,  his  duties  in  Cornwall,  the  equipment  of  the 
various  privateers  in  which  he  had  an  interest,  seem  to  have  occu- 
pied him  through  1590.  In  the  beginning  of  1591  he  was  appointed 
to  command  in  the  second  post,  under  Lord  Thomas  Howard,  a 
strong  squadron  of  queen's  ships  and  others,  to  look  out  for  the 
Spanish  plate  fleet  from  the  West  Indies.  Ultimately,  however, 
the  queen  refused  to  let  him  go,  and  his  place  afloat  was  taken  by 
his  cousin,  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  whose  death  he  celebrated  in 
'A  Report  of  the  Truth  of  the  Fight  about  the  Isles  of  the  Acores 
this  last  Sommer,  betwixt  the  Revenge,  one  of  her  Majesties 
Shippes,  and  an  Armada  of  the  King  of  Spaine.'  This,  published 
anonymously  in  the  autumn  of  1591,  was  afterwards  acknow 
ledged  in  Hakluyt's  'Principal  Navigations,'  and  forms  the  basis 
of  a  contemporary  ballad  by  Gervase  Markham  [q.  v.]  and  of 
Tennyson's  well-known  poem. 

In  the  following  year  (1592)  a  still  stronger  squadron  was  fitted 
out,  mainly  at  the  cost  of  Ralegh,  who  ventured  all  the  money  he 
could  raise,  amounting  to  about  34,ooo/. ;  the  Earl  of  Cumberland 
also  contributed  largely,  and  the  queen  supplied  two  thips,  the 
Foresight  and  Garland.  It  was  intended  that  Ralegh  should 
command  it  in  person,  though  the  queen  had  expressed  herself 
opposed  to  the  plan,  and  as  early  as  10  March  he  wrote  to  Cecil, 
'I  have  promised  her  Majesty  that,  if  I  can  persuade  the  com- 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  341 

panics  to  follow  Sir  Martin  Frobiser,  I  will  without  fail  return,  and 
bring  them  but  into  the  sea  some  fifty  or  three-score  leagues ;  which 
to  do,  her  Majesty  many  times,  with  great  grace,  bade  me  re- 
member '  (EDWARDS,  ii.  45).  But  in  the  early  days  of  May,  as 
the  fleet  put  to  sea,  Ralegh  received  an  order  to  resign  the  com- 
mand to  Frobiser  and  return  immediately.  He  conceived  himself 
warranted  in  going  as  far  as  Cape  Finisterre.  There  dividing 
the  fleet,  he  sent  one  part,  under  Frobiser,  to  threaten  the  coast  of 
Portugal  so  as  to  prevent  the  Spanish  fleet  putting  to  sea;  the  other, 
under  Sir  John  Burgh,  to  the  Azores,  where  it  captured  the  Madre 
de  Dios,  the  great  carrack,  homeward  bound  from  the  East  Indies 
with  a  cargo  of  the  estimated  value  of  upwards  of  half  a  million 
sterling.  By  the  beginning  of  June  Ralegh  had  arrived  in  London, 
and  although  on  8  June  he  was  staying  at  his  own  residence, 
Durham  House  in  the  Strand,  the  ancient  London  house  of  the 
bishops  of  Durham,  which  he  had  held  since  1584  on  a  grant  from 
the  crown  (ib.ii.  252  seq.),  he  was  in  July  committed  to  the  Tower. 
His  recall  and  imprisonment  were  due  to  the  queen's  wrath  on 
discovering  that  the  man  whom  she  had  delighted  to  honour  and 
enrich,  who  had  been  professing  a  lover's  devotion  to  her,  had  been 
carrying  on  an  intrigue  with  one  of  her  maids  of  honour,  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Sir  Nicholas  Throgmorton.  In  March  there  had 
been  circulated  a  rumour  that  Ralegh  had  married  the  lady,  but 
this,  in  a  letter  to  Robert  Cecil  on  10  March  1592,  Ralegh  had 
denounced  as  a  'malicious  report.'  According  to  Camden, 
Ralegh  seduced  the  lady  some  months  before,  an  assertion  which 
J.  P.  Collier  needlessly  attempted  to  corroborate  by  printing  a 
forged  news-letter  on  the  topic  (Archaologia,  xxxiv.  160-70). 
The  queen  showed  no  more  mercy  to  Mistress  Throgmorton  than 
to  her  lover,  and  she  also  was  imprisoned  in  the  Tower.  In  a 
letter  addressed  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil  in  July  Ralegh  affected  frenzied 
grief  and  rage  at  being  debarred  from  the  presence  of  the  queen, 
whose  personal  attractions  he  eulogised  in  language  of  absurd 
extravagance  (EDWARDS,  ii.  51-2).  In  his  familiar  poem  'As 
you  came  from  the  Holy  Land,'  he  seems  to  have  converted  into 
verse  much  of  the  flattering  description  of  Elizabeth  which  figured 
in  this  letter  to  Cecil  (Poems,  ed.  Hannah,  pp.  80-1).  But, 
despite  these  blandishments,  he  continued  a  close  prisoner  till  the 


342  SIDNEY   LEE 

middle  of  September,  when,  on  the  arrival  of  the  great  carrack, 
the  Madre  de  Dios,  at  Dartmouth,  he  was  sent  thither  with  Cecil 
and  Drake,  in  the  hope  that  by  his  local  influence  he  might  be  able 
to  stop  the  irregular  pillage  of  the  prize.  He  arrived  in  charge  of 
a  Mr.  Blunt  (State  Papers,  Dom.  ccxliii.  17),  perhaps  Sir  Chris- 
topher Blount  [q.  v.],  the  stepfather  and  friend  of  the  Earl  of 
Essex.  On  going  on  board  the  carrack  his  friends  and  the  mariners 
congratulated  him  on  being  at  liberty,  but  he  answered  'No,  I 
am  the  Queen  of  England's  poor  captive.'  Cecil,  his  fellow- 
commissioner,  treated  him  respectfully.  'I  do  grace  him,' 
wrote  Cecil,  '  as  much  I  may,  for  I  find  him  marvellous  greedy  to 
do  anything  to  recover  the  conceit  of  his  brutish  offence'  (ib.).  By 
27  Sept.  the  commissioners  had  reduced  the  affairs  of  the  carrack 
to  something  like  order  (EDWARDS,  ii.  73),  and  eventually  the  net 
proceeds  of  the  prize  amounted  to  about  i5o,ooo/.,  of  which  the 
queen  took  the  greatest  part.  Ralegh  considered  himself  ill-used 
in  receiving  36,ooo/.,  being  only  2,ooo/.  more  than  he  had  ventured, 
while  the  Earl  of  Cumberland,  who  had  ventured  only  i9,ooo/., 
also  received  36,ooo/.  (ib.  ii.  76-8).  But  her  majesty,  gratified, 
it  may  be,  by  her  share  of  the  booty,  so  far  relented  as  to  restore 
Ralegh  his  liberty. 

It  is  probable  that  Ralegh  and  Elizabeth  Throgmorton  were 
married  immediately  afterwards.  Being  forbidden  to  come  to 
court,  they  settled  at  Sherborne,  where  in  January  1591-92 
Ralegh  had  obtained  a  ninety-nine  years'  lease  of  the  castle  and 
park  (ib.  i.  463).  He  now  busied  himself  with  building  and  plant- 
ing, 'repairing  the  castle,  erecting  a  magnificent  mansion  close  at 
hand,  and  laying  out  the  grounds  with  the  greatest  refinement  of 
taste'  (Sx.  JOHN,  i.  208).  But  he  did  not  wholly  withdraw  him- 
self from  public  life.  Early  in  1593  he  was  elected  for  Michael 
in  Cornwall,  and  took  an  active  part  in  the  proceedings  of  the 
house.  On  28  Feb.  he  spoke  in  support  of  open  war  with  Spain. 
On  20  March  he  strenuously  opposed  the  extensions  of  the  privi- 
leges of  aliens,  and  his  speech  was  answered  by  Sir  Robert  Cecil. 
On  4  April  he  spoke  with  much  ability  and  tact  in  favour  of  the 
Brownists,  or  rather  against  religious  persecution  (D'EwES, 
Journals,  pp.  478,  490,  493,  508-509,  517;  EDWARDS,  i.  271). 

New  difficulties  followed  his  sojourn  in  London  during  the  ses- 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH 


343 


sion.  Passionately  devoted  to  literature  and  science,  he  asso- 
ciated in  London  with  men  of  letters  of  all  classes  and  tastes.  He 
was,  with  Cotton  and  Selden,  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Anti- 
quaries that  had  been  formed  by  Archbishop  Parker  and  lasted 
till  1605  (ArchcBologia,  I.  xxv),  and  to  him  is  assigned  the  first 
suggestion  of  those  meetings  at  the  Mermaid  tavern  in  Bread 
Street  which  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  and  many  lesser  writers 
long  graced  with  their  presence.  He  made  valuable  suggestions 
to  Richard  Hakluyt,  when  he  was  designing  his  great  collection 
of  'Voyages'  (cf.  History  of  the  World,  bk.  ii.  cap.  iii.  sect.  viii.). 
But  it  was  not  only  literary  and  archaeological  topics  that  Ralegh 
discussed  with  his  literary  or  antiquarian  friends.  Although  he 
did  not  personally  adopt  the  scepticism  in  matters  of  religion 
which  was  avowed  by  many  Elizabethan  authors,  it  attracted  his 
speculative  cast  of  mind,  and  he  sought  among  the  sceptics  his 
closest  companions.  Thomas  Harriot,  who  acknowledged  him- 
self to  be  a  deist,  he  took  into  his  house,  on  his  return  from  Vir- 
ginia, in  order  to  study  mathematics  with  him.  With  Christopher 
Marlowe,  whose  religious  views  were  equally  heterodox,  he  was 
in  equally  confidential  relations.  Izaak  Walton  testifies  that  he 
wrote  the  well-known  answer  to  Marlowe's  familiar  lyric,  '  Come, 
live  with  me  and  be  my  love.' 

There  is  little  doubt  that  Ralegh,  Harriot,  and  Marlowe,  and 
some  other  personal  friends,  including  Ralegh's  brother  Carew, 
were  all  in  1592  and  1593  members  of  a  select  coterie  which  fre- 
quently debated  religious  topics  with  perilous  freedom.  Accord- 
ing to  a  catholic  pamphleteer  writing  in  1592,  and  calling  himself 
Philopatris,  the  society  was  known  as  'Sir  Walter  Rawley's 
School  of  Atheisme.'  The  master  was  stated  to  be  a  conjuror 
(doubtless  a  reference  to  Harriot) ,  and  '  much  diligence  was  said  to 
be  used  to  get  young  gentlemen  to  this  school,  wherein  both  Moyses 
and  our  Sauior,  the  old  and  the  new  Testaments  are  iested  at  and 
the  schollers  taught  among  other  things  to  spell  God  backwards' 
(An  Advertisement  written  to  a  Secretarie  of  my  L.  Treasurers  of 
Ingland  by  an  Inglishe  Intelligencer,  1592,  p.  18).  In  May  1593 
the  coterie's  proceedings  were  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  privy 
council.  A  warrant  was  issued  for  the  arrest  of  Marlowe  and 
another,  but  Marlowe  died  next  month,  before  it  took  effect. 


344  SIDNEY   LEE 

Ralegh  had  doubtless  returned  to  Sherborne  after  the  dissolution  of 
parliament  on  10  April.  But  later  in  the  year  the  lord  keeper, 
Puckering,  made  searching  inquiries  into  Ralegh's  and  his  friends' 
relations  with  the  freethinking  dramatist.  A  witness  deposed  that 
Marlowe  had  read  an  atheistical  lecture  to  Ralegh  and  others. 
On  21  March  1593-4  a  special  commission,  headed  by  Thomas 
Howard,  viscount  Bindon,  was  directed  to  pursue  the  investiga- 
tion at  Cerne  in  Dorset,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Sherborne,  and 
to  examine  Ralegh,  his  brother  Carew,  'Mr.  Thynneof  Wiltshire,' 
and  'one  Heryott  of  Sir  Walter  Rawleigh's  house'  as  to  their 
alleged  heresies.  Unfortunately  the  result  of  the  investigation  is 
not  acessible  (Harl.  MS.  7042,  p.  401)  [see  KYD, THOMAS;  MAR- 
LOWE, CHRISTOPHER].  In  June  1594  Ralegh  spent  a  whole  night 
in  eagerly  discussing  religious  topics  with  the  Jesuit  John  Corne- 
lius [q.  v.],  while  the  latter  lay  under  arrest  at  Wolverton  (FOLEY, 
Jesuits,  iii.  461-2). 

But  Ralegh  was  soon  seeking  with  characteristic  versatility 
somewhat  less  hazardous  means  of  satisfying  his  speculative  in- 
stinct. He  had  been  fascinated  by  the  Spanish  legend  of  the 
fabulous  wealth  of  the  city  of  Manoa  in  South  America,  '  which 
the  Spaniards  call  Eldorado,'  and  he  desired  to  investigate  it. 
Early  in  1594  his  wife,  who  deprecated  the  project,  wrote  to  Cecil 
entreating  him  'rather  to  stay  him  than  further  him'  (EDWARDS, 
i.  160).  Probably  owing  to  his  wife's  influence,  Ralegh  delayed 
going  out  himself,  and  in  the  first  instance  sent  his  tried  servant, 
Jacob  Whiddon,  with  instructions  to  explore  the  river  Orinoco 
and  its  tributaries,  which  intersect  the  country  now  known  as 
Venezuela,  but  long  called  by  the  Spanish  settlers  Guayana  or 
Guiana.  Whiddon  returned  towards  the  end  of  the  year  without 
any  definite  information.  Ralegh  was  undaunted.  He  had 
already  resolved  to  essay  the  adventure  himself,  and  on  9  Feb. 
1594-5  he  sailed  from  Plymouth  with  a  fleet  of  five  ships,  fitted 
out  principally  at  his  own  cost,  Cecil  and  the  lord  admiral  being 
also  interested  in  the  voyage,  and  with  a  commission  from  the 
queen  to  wage  war  against  the  Spaniard.  On  22  March  he  arrived 
at  the  island  of  Trinidad,  off  the  Venezuelan  coast,  where  he  at- 
tacked and  took  the  town  of  San  Josef.  He  seized  Berreo,  gov- 
ernor of  Trinidad,  who,  stimulated  by  the  appearance  of  Whiddon 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  345 

the  year  before,  had  written  home  suggesting  the  immediate  occu- 
pation of  the  country  adjoining  the  Orinoco.  In  fact  an  expedi- 
tion for  this  purpose  sailed  from  San  Lucar  about  the  same  time 
that  Ralegh  sailed  from  Plymouth,  but  it  did  not  arrive  at  Trinidad 
till  April. 

Ralegh's  intercourse  with  his  prisoner  had  meantime  been  most 
friendly,  and  Berreo  showed  Ralegh  an  official  copy  of  a  deposi- 
tion made  by  one  Juan  Martinez,  who,  on  the  point  of  death, 
declared  that,  having  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Indians  of  the 
Orinoco,  he  had  been  detained  for  seven  months  in  Manoa,  the  rich- 
ness and  wonders  of  which  he  described  at  length.  Ralegh,  like 
the  Spaniards,  accepted  the  story,  in  which  there  is  nothing  im- 
probable. 'It  is  not  yet  proven  that  there  was  not  in  the  six- 
teenth century  some  rich  and  civilised  kingdom,  like  Peru  or 
Mexico,  in  the  interior  of  South  America'  (KINGSLEY,  Miscel- 
lanies, 1859,  i.  44).  The  reports  of  dogheaded  men,  or  of  'men 
whose  heads  do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders,'  may  have  originated 
in  the  disguises  of  the  Indian  medicine-men  (ib.  i.  45).  Early  in 
April,  leaving  his  ships  at  Los  Gallos,  Ralegh  started  on  his  ad- 
venturous search  for  the  gold-mine  of  Manoa,  with  a  little  flotilla 
of  five  boats,  about  one  hundred  men,  and  provisions  for  a 
month. 

The  equipment  and  the  means  at  his  disposal  proved  inadequate. 
Entering  by  the  Manamo  mouth  from  the  bay  of  Guanipa,  and 
so  into  the  Orinoco  itself,  near  where  San  Rafael  now  is,  the  labour 
of  rowing  against  the  stream  of  the  river  in  flood  was  excessive  ; 
and  when,  after  struggling  upwards  for  an  estimated  distance  of 
four  hundred  miles,  they  turned  into  the  Caroni,  it  was  often 
found  impossible  to  make  more  than  'one  stone's  cast  in  an  hour.' 
They  pushed  on  for  forty  miles  further,  when  their  provisions 
were  nearly  exhausted,  and  they  were  still  without  any  prospect  of 
reaching  Manoa.  Ralegh  reluctantly  decided  to  give  up  the  attempt 
for  the  present,  hoping  to  try  again  at  some  future  time.  Leaving 
a  man  and  a  boy  behind  with  a  tribe  of  friendly  Indians,  so  that  on 
his  return  he  might  find  competent  interpreters,  or  possibly  even 
guides  to  Manoa,  he  and  his  companions  rapidly  descended  the 
river  with  the  current,  and  rejoined  their  ships.  They  carried 
with  them  sundry  pieces  of  'white  spar'  or  quartz,  'on  the  out- ' 


346  SIDNEY   LEE 

side  of  which  appeared  some  small  grains  of  gold,'  and  these, 
being  afterwards  assayed  in  London,  were  reported  to  contain  pure 
gold  in  proportions  varying  from  12,000  to  26,900  pounds  to  the 
ton,  the  reference  being  apparently  to  the  ' assay  pound'  of  12 
grains  (information  from  Professor  Roberts-Austen).  They  are 
also  said  to  have  brought  back  the  earliest  specimens  of  mahogany 
known  in  England.  From  Trinidad  Ralegh  followed  the  north 
coast  of  South  America,  levied  contributions  from  the  Spaniards 
at  Cumana  and  Rio  de  Hacha,  and  returned  to  England  in  August. 
But  he  had  powerful  enemies,  some  of  whom  declared  that  the 
whole  story  of  the  voyage  was  a  fiction.  It  was  to  refute  this 
slander  that  he  wrote  his  'Discoverie  of  Guiana,'  1596,  4to.  At 
the  same  time  he  drew  a  map,  which  was  not  yet  finished  when  the 
book  was  published.  This  map,  long  supposed  to  be  lost  (SCHOM- 
BURGK,  p.  26n.),  is  identical  with  a  map  in  the  British  Museum 
(Add.  MS.  I794OA),  dated  about  1650  in  the  Catalogue,  but  shown 
to  be  Ralegh's  by  a  careful  comparison  with  the  text  of  the  'Dis- 
coverie'  and  with  Ralegh's  known  handwriting  (KoHL,  Des- 
criptive Catalogue  of  Maps  .  .  .  relating  to  America.  .  .  men- 
tioned in  vol.  Hi.  of  Hakluyfs  Great  Work',  information  from 
Mr.  C.  H.  Coote).  A  facsimile  of  the  map  is  in  vol.  ii.  of  'Ham- 
burgische  Festschrift  zur  Erinnerung  an  die  Entdeckung  Am- 
erikaV  (1892). 

Ralegh's  accuracy  as  a  topographer  and  cartographer  of  Guiana 
or  the  central  district  of  Venezuela  has  been  established  by  sub- 
sequent explorers,  nor  is  there  reason  to  doubt  that  the  gold-mine 
which  he  sought  really  existed.  The  quartz  which  he  brought  home 
doubtless  came  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  river  Yuruari  (an 
affluent  of  the  Caroni),  where  gold  was  discovered  in  1849  by  Dr. 
Louis  Plassard,  and  has,  since  1857,  been  procured  in  large  quan- 
tities. The  prosperous  El  Callao  mine  in  this  region  was  probably 
the  object  of  Ralegh's  search  (C.  LE  NEVE  FOSTER,  '  Caratal  Gold 
Fields  of  Venezuela,'  reprinted  from  Quarterly  Jour,  of  Geolog. 
Soc.  August  1869,  and  the  same  writer's  'Ralegh's  Gold  Mine,' 
in  Brit.  Assoc.  Rep.  1869,  pp.  162-3). 

On  his  return  in  1595  Ralegh  retired  to  Sherborne,  and,  as  lord 
lieutenant  of  Cornwall,  prepared  for  the  defence  of  the  country 
against  a  threatened  invasion  from  Spain.  This  prevented  his 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  347 

• 

personally  undertaking  a  new  voyage  to  Guiana;  but  in  January 
1595-1596  he  sent  out  his  trusty  friend,  Lawrence  Kemys  [q.  v.], 
wrho  brought  back  the  news  that  the  Spaniards,  under  orders  from 
Berreo,  had  re-established  themselves  in  force  at  San  Tomas,  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Caroni,  where  an  earlier  settlement  had  been 
abandoned  (HAKLTJYT,  iii.  672;  GARDINER,  iii.  444-5,  where  the 
position  of  San  Tomas  is  discussed). 

Meantime  Ralegh  took  a  brilliant  part  in  the  expedition  to 
Cadiz  in  June  1596.  He  commanded  the  van  —  himself  in  the 
leading  ship,  the  Warspite  —  as  the  fleet  forced  its  way  into  the 
harbour,  and,  though  severely  wounded,  he  was  carried  on  shore 
when  the  men  landed  for  the  storming  of  the  town.  By  his  com- 
mission as  a  general  officer  he  had  a  voice  in  the  councils  of  war, 
but  his  share  in  swaying  the  decision  to  attack,  which  we  know 
only  from  his  own  narrative  (EDWARDS,  ii.  147-8),  may  easily 
be  exaggerated,  and  is  contradicted  by  Sir  William  Monson,  the 
captain  of  Essex's  ship,  the  Dieu  Repulse  ('Naval  Tracts'  in 
CHURCHILL,  Voyages,  1704,  iii.  185).  On  his  return  Ralegh  was 
again  busied  with  the  despatch  of  a  vessel  to  push  discovery  in  the 
Orinoco.  She  sailed  from  the  Thames  in  October,  but  did  not 
leave  Weymouth  till  27  Dec.,  and  by  the  end  of  June  1597  she  was 
back  at  Plymouth  without  having  been  able  to  gain  any  further  in- 
telligence (HAKLUYT,  iii.  692).  As  far  as  Ralegh  was  concerned, 
the  project  was  dropped  for  the  next  twenty  years,  though  others 
made  fruitless  attempts  in  the  same  direction  [see  LEIGH,  CHARLES, 
d.  1605]. 

Ralegh  had  been  commended  for  his  share  in  the  taking  of  Cadiz ; 
his  friends  believed  that  the  queen's  wrath  was  wearing  itself  out, 
and  Essex  was  not  hostile.  In  May  1597  Ralegh  was  in  daily 
attendance  at  the  court,  and  on  i  June  he  'was  brought  by  Cecil 
to  the  queen,  who  used  him  very  graciously  and  gave  him  full 
authority  to  execute  his  place  as  captain  of  the  guard.  In  the 
evening  he  rid  abroad  with  the  queen,  and  had  private  conference 
with  her'  (EDWARDS,  i.  226).  For  the  next  few  weeks  he  seems 
to  have  been  on  familiar,  almost  friendly,  terms  with  Essex.  Mean- 
time the  intelligence  from  Spain  showed  that  Philip  was  preparing 
to  take  revenge  for  the  loss  he  had  sustained  at  Cadiz.  Ralegh 
drew  up  a  paper  entitled  'Opinion  on  the  Spanish  Alarum,'  in 


348  SIDNEY   LEE 

support  of  the  contention  that  the  cheapest  and  surest  way  to 
defend  England  was  to  strike  beforehand  at  Spain.  The  idea 
had  been  forcibly  urged  by  Drake  ten  years  before,  but  the  time 
was  now  more  favourable  and  the  advice  accorded  with  the  queen's 
inclinations.  It  had  been  intended  to  send  out  a  squadron  of  ten 
ships  under  Lord  Thomas  Howard,  with  Ralegh  as  vice-admiral. 
The  fleet  was  now  increased,  it  was  joined  by  a  squadron  of  Dutch 
ships,  and  Essex,  as  admiral  and  general,  took  command  of  the 
whole.  On  10  July  it  put  to  sea,  but  was  dispersed  in  a  gale  and 
driven  back  with  some  loss.  It  could  not  sail  again  till  17  Aug., 
and  then  with  a  diminished  force,  a  great  part  of  the  troops  being 
left  behind.  Off  Cape  Finisterre  the  fleet  was  for  the  second  time 
scattered  by  bad  weather,  and  only  by  slow  degrees  was  it  collected 
at  Flores,  in  the  Azores,  where  it  was  determined  to  lie  in  wait  for 
the  Spanish  treasure  ships  from  the  West  Indies.  But  Essex  had 
intelligence  that  it  was  doubtful  if  they  would  come  at  all,  and  that, 
if  they  did,  they  would  take  a  more  southerly  route.  He  therefore 
resolved  to  wait  for  them  at  Fayal,  and  sailed  thither,  giving 
Ralegh  orders  to  follow  as  soon  as  his  ships  had  watered.  Ralegh, 
following  in  haste,  arrived  at  the  rendezvous  before  Essex,  and 
seeing  that  the  inhabitants  were  putting  the  town  in  a  state  of 
defence,  he  landed  and  took  it  without  waiting  for  Essex,  who,  on 
coming  in,  was  exceedingly  angry  to  find  that  he  had  been  antici- 
pated. He  accused  Ralegh  of  having  disobeyed  the  instructions, 
by  landing  'without  the  general's  presence  or  order.'  Ralegh 
appealed  to  the  actual  words,  that  '  no  captain  of  any  ship  or 
company  .  .  .  shall  land  anywhere  without  directions  from  the 
general  or  some  other  principal  commander,'  he  being,  he  main- 
tained, 'a  principal  commander,  named  by  the  queen  as  com- 
mander of  the  whole  fleet  in  succession  to  Essex  and  Howard.' 
Common  sense  justified  Ralegh's  action,  and  Essex  was  obliged  to 
waive  the  point,  though  several  of  his  friends  are  said  to  have  in- 
cited him  to  bring  Ralegh  to  a  court-martial  (ib.  i.  242).  The 
quarrel  was  healed  for  the  time  by  the  intervention  of  Howard, 
and  the  fleet  kept  at  sea  till  the  middle  of  October,  making  some 
valuable  prizes  and  destroying  many  others.  On  its  return  the 
troops  were  distributed  in  the  western  garrisons,  and  Ralegh,  in 
conjunction  with  Lord  Thomas  Howard  and  Lord  Mount  joy, 


THE   LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  349 

was  occupied  in  preparations  for  the  defence  of  the  coast  against 
any  possible  attempts  on  the  part  of  Spain. 

During  the  years  immediately  following,  his  time  was,  for  the 
most  part,  divided  between  the  court  and  the  west  country,  with 
an  occasional  visit  to  Ireland.  In  1597  he  was  chosen  member  of 
parliament  for  Dorset,  and  in  1601  for  Cornwall.  In  the  last  par- 
liament he  defended  monopolies,  which  were  attacked  with  much 
heat  in  a  debate  of  19  Nov.  1601.  He  is  reported  to  have  blushed 
when  a  fellow-member  spoke  of  the  Iniquity  of  a  monopoly  of 
playing-cards,  and  he  elaborately  explained  his  relations  with  the 
monopoly  of  tin,  which  he  owned  as  lord  warden  of  the  stannaries, 
but  he  said  nothing  of  his  equally  valuable  monopoly  of  sweet 
wines  (D'EwES,  Journals  of  Parliaments,  p.  645).  In  July  1600, 
after  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Nieuport,  he,  jointly  with  Lord 
Cobham,  with  whom  he  was  now  first  intimately  associated,  was 
sent  to  Ostend  with  a  gracious  message  from  the  queen  to  Lord 
Grey  [see  BROOKE,  HENRY,  eighth  LORD  COBHAM  ;  GREY,  THOMAS, 
fifteenth  LORD  GREY  OF  WILTON].  In  the  following  September 
he  was  appointed  governor  of  Jersey,  and  at  once  repaired  to  the 
island,  wrhere  he  instituted  a  public  registry  of  title-deeds,  which 
is  still  an  important  feature  of  the  insular  land  system,  and  he 
practically  created  the  trade  in  fish  between  Jersey  and  Newfound- 
land (PEGOT-OGIER,  lies  de  la  Manche,  p.  326;  FALLE,  Jersey, 
ed.  Durell,  p.  397;  PROWSE,  Hist,  of  Newfoundland,  pp.  52,  76). 
But  the  old  quarrel  with  Essex  was  still  smouldering.  In  season 
and  out  of  season,  Essex  and  his  partisans,  especially  Sir  Chris- 
topher Blount  [q.  v.],  were  loud  in  their  denunciations  of  Ralegh. 
Essex,  writing  to  the  queen  on  25  June  1599,  accused  him  of  'wish- 
ing the  ill-success  of  your  majesty's  most  important  action,  the 
decay  of  your  greatest  strength,  and  the  destruction  of  your  faith- 
fullest  servants'  (EDWARDS,  i.  254),  and  at  the  last  he  asserted 
that  it  was  to  counteract  Ralegh's  plots  that  he  had  come  over 
from  Ireland,  and  'pretended  that  he  took  arms  principally  to 
save  himself  from  Cobham  and  Ralegh,  who,  he  gave  out,  should 
have  murdered  him  in  his  house'  (Cecil  to  Sir  George  Carew, 
ib.  i.  255).  It  was  untruthfully  alleged  that  Ralegh  had  placed  an 
ambuscade  to  shoot  Essex  as  he  passed  on  his  way  from  Ireland 
to  the  lords  of  the  council  in  London.  Blount,  pretending  to  seek 


350  SIDNEY  LEE 

a  means  of  retaliating,  shot  four  times  at  Ralegh ;  he  had  already 
vainly  suggested  to  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges  that  Ralegh's  removal 
would  do  Essex  good  service  (OLDYS,  p.  333). 

Ralegh  was  not  disposed  to  submit  meekly  to  this  active  hos- 
tility. At  an  uncertain  date  —  probably  in  1601  —  he  wrote 
of  Essex  to  Cecil:  'If  you  take  it  for  a  good  counsel  to  relent 
towards  this  tyrant,  you  will  repent  it  when  it  shall  be  too  late. 
His  malice  is  fixed,  and  will  not  evaporate  by  any  your  mild  courses. 
.  .  .  For  after  revenges/  fear  them  not ;  for  your  own  father 
was  esteemed  to  be  the  contriver  of  Norfolk's  ruin,  yet  his  son 
followeth  your  father's  son  and  loveth  him'  (cf.  ST.  JOHN, 
ii.  38;  and  DEVEREUX,  Lives  of  the  Devereux,  ii.  177).  When 
Essex  was  brought  out  for  execution,  Ralegh  was  present,  but 
withdrew  on  hearing  it  murmured  that  he  was  there  to  feast  his 
eyes  on  his  enemy's  sufferings.  Blount  afterwards  admitted  that 
neither  he  nor  Essex  had  really  believed  that  Ralegh  had  plotted 
against  the  earl's  life;  'it  was,'  he  said,  'a  word  cast  out  to 
colour  other  matters;'  and  on  the  scaffold  he  entreated  pardon 
of  Ralegh,  who  was  again  present,  possibly  in  his  official  capacity 
as  captain  of  the  guard.  His  attitude  towards  Essex  and  his 
party  seems  to  have  led  Sir  Amyas  Preston  to  send  him,  in  1602,  a 
challenge,  which  he  accepted.  He  arranged  his  papers  and  affairs 
as  a  precautionary  measure,  entailing  the  Sherborne  estate  on  his 
son  Walter;  but  for  some  unexplained  reason  the  duel  did  not 
take  place.  About  the  same  date  he  began  negotiations  for  the 
sale  of  much  of  his  Irish  property  to  Richard  Boyle,  first  earl  of 
Cork;  the  transaction  was  not  completed  until  1604,  after 
Ralegh's  attainder,  when  Boyle  secured  all  the  Irish  estates  (cf. 
Lismore  Papers,  ed.  Grosart,  ist  ser.  iv.  258;  2nd  ser.  ii.  38-49, 
157-9,  n'i-  59-62>  v-  passim). 

Meantime  political  intrigues  centred  round  the  king  of  Scots. 
For  at  least  two  years  before  the  death  of  the  queen,  James  was 
systematically  informed  that  Ralegh  was  opposed  to  his  claims, 
and  was  ready  to  proceed  to  any  extremities  to  prevent  his  acces- 
sion to  the  throne.  The  letters  were  written  by  Lord  Henry 
Howard  (afterwards  Earl  of  Northampton)  [q.  v.],  probably  with 
the  knowledge,  if  not  the  approval,  of  Cecil.  The  result,  at  any 
rate,  was  that  James  crossed  the  border  with  a  strong  prepossession 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH  351 

against  Ralegh;  and  when  Ralegh,  who  had  been  in  the  west, 
hastened  to  meet  him,  he  was  received  with  marked  discourtesy. 
A  fortnight  later  he  was  deprived  of  his  post  of  captain  of  the  guard ; 
he  was  persuaded  or  compelled  to  resign  the  wardenship  of  the 
stannaries  and  the  governorship  of  Jersey;  his  lucrative  patent 
of  wine  licenses  was  suspended  as  a  monopoly;  and  he  was  or- 
dered, 'with  unseemly  haste,'  to  leave  Durham  House  in  the 
Strand.  Such  measures  were  a  sure  presage  of  his  downfall ;  but 
he  still  remained  at  court  in  occasional  attendance  on  the  king, 
hoping,  it  may  be,  to  overcome  the  prejudice  and  win  the  royal 
favour.  On  or  about  14  July  he  was  summoned  before  the  lords 
of  the  council,  who  examined  him  as  to  any  knowledge  he  might 
have  of  the  plot  'to  surprise  the  king's  person'  [see  WATSON, 
WILLIAM],  or  of  any  plot  contrived  between  Lord  Cobham  and 
Count  Aremberg,  the  Spanish  agent  in  London.  Of  Watson's 
plot  he  was  most  probably  entirely  ignorant.  With  Cobham  he 
was  still  on  friendly  terms,  and  Cobham  had  taken  from  his  house 
a  book  by  one  Snagge,  contesting  James's  title.  Ralegh  had 
once  borrowed  the  work  from  Lord  Burghley's  library.  More- 
over he  knew  that  Cobham  had  been  in  correspondence  with 
Aremberg.  This  he  denied  before  the  council,  but  he  afterwards 
admitted  it,  and  his  prevarication,  joined  to  his  known  intercourse 
with  Cobham  and  his  reasonable  causes  for  discontent,  appeared 
so  suspicious  that  on  17  July  he  was  sent  a  prisoner  to  the  Tower. 
'Unable  to  endure  his  misfortunes,'  he  attempted  to  commit 
suicide  (EDWARDS,  i.  375). 

During  the  following  months  he  was  repeatedly  examined  by 
the  lords  of  the  council,  and  on  17  Nov.  was  brought  to  trial  at 
Winchester  before  a  special  commission,  which  included  among 
its  members  Lord  Thomas  Howard,  now  earl  of  Suffolk,  Sir 
Charles  Blount,  now  earl  of  Devonshire  [q.  v.],  Lord  Henry  How- 
ard, the  newly  created  Lord  Cecil,  Sir  John  Popham  [q.  v.],  lord 
chief  justice,  and  several  others.  Of  these,  only  Suffolk  could  be 
considered  friendly.  Nothing  was  proved  in  a  manner  which 
would  satisfy  a  modern  judge  or  a  modern  jury ;  but  the  imputa- 
tion of  guilt  attached  at  the  time  to  every  prisoner  committed 
by  the  lords  of  the  council  for  trial  on  a  charge  of  treason,  un- 
less any  convincing  proof  of  his  innocence  were  forthcoming. 


352  SIDNEY  LEE 

This  Ralegh  could  not  produce.  He  knew  something  of  Cob- 
ham's  incriminating  correspondence,  and  to  know  of  or  suspect 
the  existence  or  even  the  conception  of  a  traitorous  plot  without 
revealing  it  was  to  be  particeps  criminis.  The  jury  without 
hesitation  brought  in  a  verdict  of  guilty  —  guilty  of  compassing 
the  death  of  the  king,  'the  old  fox  and  his  cubs;'  of  endeavour- 
ing to  set  Arabella  Stuart  on  the  throne ;  of  receiving  bribes  from 
the  court  of  Spain ;  of  seeking  to  deliver  the  country  into  the 
hands  of  its  enemy.  Sentence  was  pronounced  by  Popham,  but 
the  commissioners  undertook  to  petition  the  king  to  qualify  the 
rigour  of  the  punishment.  The  trial  is  a  landmark  in  English 
constitutional  history.  The  harsh  principles  then  in  repute 
among  lawyers  were  enunciated  by  the  judges  with  unprecedented 
distinctness,  and  as  a  consequence  a  reaction  steadily  set  in  from 
that  moment  in  favour  of  the  rights  of  individuals  against  the 
state  (GARDINER,  i.  138). 

Two  days  before  Ralegh's  trial,  Watson,  George  Brooke,  and 
four  others  were  tried  and  condemned;  a  week  later,  Cobham 
and  Grey.  Ralegh  was  ordered  to  be  executed  on  n  Dec.,  and, 
in  full  expectation  of  death,  he  wrote  a  touching  letter  of  farewell  to 
his  wife.  This  was  published  in  1644  with  a  few  other  small 
pieces  in  a  volume  entitled  'To-day  a  Man,  To-morrow  None,' 
in  the  'Arraignment'  of  1648,  and  in  the  'Remaines7  of  1651 
(cf.  EDWARDS,  ii.  284).  But  on  10  Dec.  Ralegh,  with  Cobham 
and  Grey,  was  reprieved;  and  on  the  i6th  the  three  were  sent  up 
to  London  and .  committed  to  the  Tower.  All  Ralegh's  offices 
were  vacated  by  his  attainder,  and  his  estates  forfeited,  but  his 
personal  property  was  now  restored  to  him.  In  1602,  when  he 
had  assigned  the  manor  of  Sherborne  to  trustees  for  the  benefit 
of  his  son  Walter,  he  reserved  the  income  from  it  to  himself  for 
life.  This  life  interest  now  fell  to  the  king,  but  on  30  July  1604  a 
sixty  years'  term  of  Sherborne  and  ten  other  Dorset  and  Somerset 
manors  was  granted  by  the  crown  to  trustees  to  be  held  by  them 
for  Lady  Ralegh  and  her  son.  Soon  afterwards  a  legal  flaw  was 
discovered  in  the  deed  of  1602  conveying  Sherborne  to  the  trustees 
of  the  son  Walter.  After  much  legal  argument  the  judges  in  1608 
declared  the  whole  property  to  be  forfeited  under  the  attainder, 
and  the  arrangement  of  1604  to  be  void.  Lady  Ralegh,  in  a  per- 
sonal interview,  entreated  James  to  waive  his  claim,  but  withdrew 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH 


353 


her  opposition  on  receiving  a  promise  of  400^.  a  year  for  her  life 
and  that  of  her  son,  together  with  a  capital  sum  of  8,ooo/.  The 
Sherborne  property,  which  was  of  the  estimated  rental  of  75o/., 
was  thereupon  bestowed  on  the  king's  favourite,  Robert  Carr, 
earl  of  Somerset.  Shortly  before  Prince  Henry's  death  in  1612 
he  begged  it  of  James,  who  compensated  Carr  with  2o,ooo/.  The 
prince  intended  to  restore  the  estate  to  Ralegh,  but  died  before 
he  could  effect  his  design,  and  Carr  retook  possession,  but  on  his 
attainder  in  1616,  Sherborne  was  sold  to  John  Digby,  earl  of 
Bristol,  for  io,ooo/.  (STEBBING,  pp.  244,  261-4;  CAREW  RALEGH, 
Brief  Relation,  1669). 

Ralegh  was  treated  leniently  in  prison.  He  had  apartments 
in  the  upper  story  of  the  Bloody  Tower,  where  his  wife  and  son, 
with  their  personal  attendants,  also  lived,  at  the  rate,  for  household 
expenses,  of  about  2oo/.  a  year.  But  his  health  suffered  from 
cold  (Notes  and  Queries,  2nd  ser.  viii.  107),  and  frequent  efforts 
were  made  by  his  enemies  to  concoct  fresh  charges  of  disloyalty 
against  him.  In  1610  they  succeeded  in  depriving  him  for  three 
months  of  the  society  of  his  wife,  who  was  ordered  to  leave  the 
Tower.  In  Prince  Henry,  however,  he  found  a  useful  friend. 
The  prince  was  mainly  attracted  by  Ralegh's  studies  in  science 
and  literature,  to  which  his  enforced  leisure  was  devoted.  For 
the  prince,  Ralegh  designed  a  model  of  a  ship.  Encouraged  by 
him,  he  began  his  ' History  of  the  World.'  and  for  his  guidance 
designed  many  political  treatises.  In  a  laboratory,  or  'still-house,' 
allowed  him  in  the  Tower  garden  for  chemical  and  philosophical 
experiments,  he  condensed  fresh  from  salt  water  (an  art  only 
practised  generally  during  the  present  century)  (cf.  Cal.  State 
Papers,  Dom.  1606-7),  and  compounded  drugs,  chief  among 
which  was  his  'Great  Cordial  or  Elixir.'  Ralegh's  own  prescrip- 
tion is  not  extant,  but  Nicholas  le  Febre  compounded  it  in  the 
presence  of  Charles  II  on  20  Sept.  1662  (EVELYN,  Diary,  ii.  152), 
and  printed  an  account  of  the  demonstration  in  1664.  At  the 
same  time  whatever  books  Ralegh  chose  to  buy  or  borrow  were 
freely  at  his  disposal,  and  he  interested  himself  in  the  scientific 
researches  of  his  fellow-prisoner,  Henry  Percy,  ninth  earl  of 
Northumberland  [q.  v.],  into  whose  service  he  introduced  Harriot, 
his  old  friend  and  fellow-worker. 

2A 


354  SIDNEY  LEE 

As  early  as  1610,  possibly  earlier,  Ralegh  sought  permission  for 
another  venture  to  the  Orinoco.  He  was  willing  to  command  an 
expedition  himself,  or  to  serve  as  guide  to  any  persons  appointed. 
'If  I  bring  them  not,'  he  wrote,  'to  a  mountain  covered  with  gold 
and  silver  ore,  let  the  commander  have  commission  to  cut  off  my 
head  there'  (EDWARDS,  ii.  393).  His  proposal  received  some  en- 
couragement, and  in  1611  or  1612  certain  lords  of  the  council 
offered  to  send  Kemys  with  two  ships,  on  condition  that  the  charge 
should  be  borne  by  Ralegh  if  Kemys  failed  to  bring  back  at  least 
half  a  ton  of  gold  ore  similar  to  the  specimens.  Ralegh  objected 
that  it  was  'a  matter  of  exceeding  difficulty  for  any  man  to  find  the 
same  acre  of  ground  again  in  a  country  desolate  and  overgrown 
which  he  hath  seen  but  once,  and  that  sixteen  years  since.' 
'Yet,'  he  wrote,  'that  your  lordships  may  be  satisfied  of  the 
truth,  I  am  contented  to  adventure  all  I  have,  but  my  reputation, 
upon  Kemys'  memory;'  the  condition  on  the  other  side  being 
*  that  half  a  ton  of  the  former  ore  being  brought  home,  then 
I  shall  have  my  liberty,  and  in  the  meanwhile  my  free  pardon 
under  the  great  seal,  to  be  left  in  his  majesty's  hands  till  the 
end  of  the  journey'  (ib.  ii.  338-9).  There  can,  however,  be 
little  doubt  that  Cecil,  now  earl  of  Salisbury,  did  not  encourage 
the  scheme,  but  the  king  yielded  to  the  representations  of  Sir 
Ralph  Winwood  [q.  v.],  Ralegh's  steadfast  friend,  and  of  Sir 
George  Villiers  (afterwards  duke  of  Buckingham)  [q.  v.].  The 
warrant  for  his  release  was  dated  19  March  1615-16;  but  it 
appears  that  he  was  actually  discharged  from  the  Tower  two 
or  three  days  earlier,  though  he  continued  throughout  the  year 
under  the  guard  of  a  keeper  (ib.  i.  563;  ii.  341;  GARDINER, 
ii.  381). 

During  the  following  months  he  was  busy  in  preparations  for 
the  voyage.  He  had  no  support  from  the  crown,  and  he  and  his 
wife  adventured  all  they  had,  including  the  8,ooo/.,  or  as  much  of 
it  as  had  been  paid  in  compensation  for  the  resumption  of  Sher- 
borne,  and  some  land  of  hers  at  Mitcham  (cf.  Notes  and  Queries, 
ist  ser.  xi.  262,  2nd  ser.  ix.  331).  The  gentlemen  volunteers  who 
gathered  round  Ralegh  subscribed  the  rest.  Among  these  were 
Charles  Parker,  a  brother  of  William  Parker,  fourth  baron 
Monteagle  [q.  v.];  Captain  North,  brother  of  Dudley,  third  lord 


THE   LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  355 

North  [q.  v.];  Sir  Warham  St.  Leger,  son  of  Ralegh's  old 
comrade  in  Ireland;  and  George  Ralegh,  a  son  of  Ralegh's 
brother  George.  With  them  were  Kemys,  Captain  (afterwards 
Sir  John)  Penington  [q.  v.],  and  others  of  good  repute  as  sea- 
men or  as  soldiers;  but  as  a  rule  the  merchants  of  London,  or 
Bristol,  or  Plymouth,  like  the  seafaring  folk  of  the  west  country, 
held  aloof  from  the  enterprise.  His  ships  were  thus  rilled  up 
with  'the  world's  scum.'  Even  of  the  volunteers,  many  of  them 
were  'drunkards,  blasphemers,  and  other  such  as  their  fathers, 
brothers,  and  friends  thought  it  an  exceeding  good  gain  to  be 
discharged  of  with  the  hazard  of  some  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty 
pounds,  knowing  they  could  not  have  lived  a  whole  year  so 
cheap  at  home'  ('Apology  for  the  Voyage  to  Guiana,'  Works, 
viii.  480). 

As  soon  as  the  proposed  voyage  to  the  Orinoco  was  publicly 
spoken  of,  Sarmiento,  the  Spanish  ambassador,  vehemently  pro- 
tested against  it.  All  Guiana  (the  modern  Venezuela),  he  asserted, 
belonged  to  the  king  of  Spain,  and  Ralegh's  incursion  would  be 
an  invasion  of  Spanish  territory,  but  he  thought  it  more  probable 
that  Ralegh  meant  to  lie  in  wait  for  and  attack  the  Mexican  plate 
fleet,  in  practical  disregard  of  the  peace  between  the  two  countries. 
Ralegh  protested  that  he  had  no  intention  of  turning  pirate ;  that 
the  mine  really  existed,  and  added,  according  to  Sarmiento,  that 
it  was  neither  in  nor  near  the  king  of  Spain's  territories  — a  state- 
ment palpably  false  (GARDINER,  iii.  39).  Ralegh  knew  that  the 
Spaniards  had  taken  possession  of  the  district  (EDWARDS,  ii. 
338).  Ralegh  had  stringent  orders  not  to  engage  in  any  hostili- 
ties against  the  Spaniards,  and  was  assured  that  disobedience 
would  cost  him  his  life  (GARDINER,  iii.  44  «).  This  warning  he 
treated  as  mainly  intended  to  satisfy  Sarmiento,  and  as  an  inti- 
mation of  the  possible  result  of  failure.  To  Bacon  he  spoke 
openly  of  seizing  the  Mexican  plate  fleet,  and  to  Bacon's  objection 
that  that  would  be  piracy,  he  answered  'Did  you  ever  hear  of 
men  being  pirates  for  millions?'  (ib.  p.  48). 

While  the  preparations  were  in  progress  another  design  occurred 
to  him.  Towards  the  end  of  1616  war  again  broke  out  between 
Spain  and  Savoy,  and  Savoy  turned  to  France  and  England  for 
support.  Genoa,  nominally  neutral,  was  rendering  valuable  aid 


356  SIDNEY   LEE 

to  Spain.  James  was  not  unwilling  to  assist  Savoy,  but  was 
destitute  of  the  means,  and  Ralegh,  understanding  the  situation 
from  Winwood,  suggested  to  the  Savoyard  ambassador  in  London 
that  he  should  urge  the  king  to  divert  the  Guiana  squadron  to  an 
assault  on  Genoa.  James,  after  considering  the  proposal,  de- 
clined to  sanction  a  change  in  the  destination  of  Ralegh's  expedi- 
tion (ib.  pp.  50-52).  Ralegh,  however,  was  anxious  to  obtain 
some  further  security  for  his  life  in  case  of  failure.  With  that 
view  he  entered  into  negotiations  with  the  French  ambassador  in 
London,  and  with  the  admiral  of  France,  hoping  for  the  assistance 
of  some  French  ships,  and  a  safe  retreat  to  France  in  the  event  of 
defeat.  The  confused  evidence  points  to  the  conclusion  that 
Ralegh  had  determined  to  attempt  the  capture  of  the  Mexican 
plate  fleet,  to  establish  himself  in  force  at  the  mine,  and  to  seize  the 
islands  of  Trinidad  and  Margarita  as  the  keys  of  the  position. 
He  believed  that  success,  in  spite  of  his  orders,  would  win  the 
king's  pardon,  but,  if  not,  that  the  treasure  he  would  carry  with 
him  would  insure  him  a  favourable  reception  in  France.  He  sailed 
from  Plymouth  with  a  squadron  of  fourteen  ships  on  12  June  1617. 
The  voyage  was  unfortunate  from  the  first.  Foul  winds  and 
storms  drove  him  back,  and  afterwards  scattered  his  fleet;  one 
ship  was  sunk.  Most  of  them,  more  or  less  disabled,  put  into  the 
harbour  of  Cork.  In  July  Ralegh  paid  a  visit  to  Sir  Richard 
Boyle,  who  lent  him  ioo/.,  and  next  month  he  entered  into  a  part- 
nership with  Boyle  for  the  working  of  the  copper  mine  at  Balli- 
garren  (Lismore  Papers,  ed.  Grosart,  ist  ser.  i.  158,  163,  2nd  ser. 
ii.  86-96).  He  was  not  ready  to  sail  again  till  19  Aug.  At  the 
Canaries  the  Spaniards  were  sullenly  obstructive;  it  was  only 
after  being  refused  at  two  of  the  islands  that  they  were  allowed  to 
water  at  Gomera.  From  the  Cape  Verde  Islands  they  were  driven 
by  a  hurricane.  Calms  and  foul  winds  followed;  they  lay  for 
forty  days  in  the  Doldrums,  short  of  water,  a  prey  to  scurvy  and 
fever.  Great  numbers  of  the  men,  with  several  of  the  captains 
and  superior  officers,  died.  Ralegh  himself  was  stricken  with 
fever.  The  crews  were  mutinous.  It  was  afterwards  stated 
that  Ralegh  encouraged  them  with  assurances  of  capturing 
the  Mexican  fleet  if  the  mine  failed  (GARDINER,  iii.  118).  On 
arriving  off  the  mouth  of  the  Oyapok  he  hoped  to  be  joined  by 


THE   LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  357 

Leonard,  an  Indian  whom  he  had  brought  to  England  on  his 
former  voyage,  and  who  had  lived  with  him  for  three  or  four 
years.  But  Leonard  was  not  there,  and  Ralegh  moved  his  squad- 
ron, reduced  by  wreck  or  separation  to  ten  ships,  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Cayenne.  There  he  was  welcomed  by  friendly  natives  whose 
affection  he  had  won  twenty  years  before.  '  To  tell  you,'  he 
wrote  to  his  wife  on  14  Nov.,  'that  I  might  be  king  of  the  Indians 
were  but  vanity.  .  .  .  They  feed  me  with  fresh  meat  and  all 
that  the  country  yields'  (EDWARDS,  ii.  347).  When  the  men  were 
somewhat  refreshed,  and  recovered  from  sickness,  he  moved  to  the 
Isle  de  Salut,  and  there  prepared  for  the  farther  adventure.  Five 
of  the  ships  were  small  enough  to  cross  the  bar  and  go  up  the 
river,  and  in  these  he  put  four  hundred  men.  He  himself  was 
too  feeble  from  the  effects  of  the  fever  to  accompany  them,  and  it 
was  the  general  wish  that  he  should  remain  behind.  It  was  ex- 
pected that  a  hostile  Spanish  fleet  would  arrive,  with  which  Ralegh 
could  best  deal.  'You  shall  find  me,'  he  told  the  expeditionary 
force,  'at  Pun  to  Gallo,  dead  or  alive;  and  if  you  find  not  my 
ships  there,  yet  you  shall  find  their  ashes.  For  I  will  fire  with  the 
galleons  if  it  come  to  extremity,  but  run  away  I  will  never' 
(GARDINER,  iii.  121). 

The  chief  command  of  the  expedition  up  the  river  he  entrusted 
to  Kemys;  his  nephew,  George  Ralegh,  was  to  command  the 
soldiers,  among  whom  was  his  son  Walter.  Ralegh  gave  orders 
that  they  should  land  at  a  point  agreed  on,  and  march  to  the  mine, 
said  to  be  three  miles  distant.  If  they  were  attacked  by  the  Span- 
iards in  moderate  force  they  were  to  repel  them ;  but  '  if  without 
manifest  peril  of  my  son,'  he  said  to  Kemys,  '  yourself,  and  other 
captains,  you  cannot  pass  toward  the  mine,  then  be  well  advised 
how  you  land.  For  I  know,  a  few  gentlemen  excepted,  what  a  scum 
of  men  you  have,  and  I  would  not  for  all  the  world  receive  a  blow 
from  the  Spaniard  to  the  dishonour  of  our  nation'  (ib.  p.  120). 
The  expedition  started  on  10  Dec.,  but  the  settlement  of  San  Tomas 
had  been  moved  several  miles  lower  down  the  river,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  pass  it  without  being  seen,  or  to  march  to  the  mine 
without  the  danger  of  falling  into  an  ambuscade.  Kemys  de- 
cided to  attack  the  town,  which  was  stormed  and  burnt,  though 
with  the  loss  of  young  Walter,  Ralegh's  son.  The  Spaniards 


358  SIDNEY   LEE 

took  to  the  woods,  and,  in  face  of  their  opposition,  Kemys  judged 
it  impossible  to  reach  the  mine.  He  accordingly  returned,  and 
rejoined  Ralegh  at  Punto  Gallo,  only  to  kill  himself  in  despair  at 
the  bitter  reproach  to  which  Ralegh  gave  vent.  He  had  brought 
fresh  evidence  of  the  existence  and  wealth  of  the  mine,  and  Ralegh 
wished  to  lead  his  men  back  for  another  attempt.  But  they 
shrank  from  adventure;  he  could  neither  persuade  nor  compel 
them;  they  were  thoroughly  disheartened.  He  proposed  to 
them  to  look  out  for  the  Mexican  fleet ;  they  refused,  the  captains 
equally  with  the  men.  'What  shall  we  be  the  better?'  they  said; 
'for  when  we  come  home  the  king  shall  have  what  we  have  gotten, 
and  we  shall  be  hanged'  (ib.  p.  127).  Several  of  the  ships  parted 
company.  Some  of  them  went  to  Newfoundland,  and  thence, 
with  a  cargo  of  fish  on  their  own  account,  to  the  Mediterranean. 
After  touching  at  St.  Kitts,  whence  he  sent  letters  to  England, 
Ralegh  also  went  to  Newfoundland.  He  had  only  now  four  ships 
with  him,  and  though  with  these  he  would  fain  have  kept  the  sea 
in  hopes  of  capturing  some  rich  prize,  his  men  refused  to  follow 
him.  He  realised  the  danger  that  awaited  him  in  England,  and, 
as  a  penniless  outcast,  he  would  be  scarcely  more  welcome  in 
France.  With  much  hesitation  he  went  to  meet  his  fate  in  Eng- 
land, and  arrived  at  Plymouth  about  the  middle  of  June  1618. 

Already  the  news  of  the  attack  at  San  Tomas  and  of  the  failure 
of  the  expedition  had  reached  the  king,  and  the  Spanish  minister, 
now  Conde  de  Gondomar,  demanded  satisfaction  in  accordance 
with  James's  promise  that  'if  Ralegh  returned  loaded  with  gold 
acquired  by  an  attack  on  the  subjects  of  the  king  of  Spain,  he 
would  surrender  it  all,  and  would  give  up  the  authors  of  the  crime 
to  be  hanged  in  the  public  square  of  Madrid.'  James  assured 
him  that  he  would  be  as  good  as  his  word  (ib.  iii.  132).  The 
council  resented  Gondomar's  language  to  the  king;  but  James, 
supported  by  Buckingham,  convinced  it  that  Ralegh  ought  to  be 
punished.  On  22  June  James  assured  Gondomar  that  justice 
should  be  done,  and  Gondomar  replied  with  a  sneer  'that  Ralegh 
and  his  followers  were  in  England,  and  had  not  been  hanged.' 
James,  although  stung  to  fury,  agreed  to  propose  to  the  council 
to  send  Ralegh  and  some  dozen  of  his  followers  to  Spain.  Three 
days  -later  he  promised  Gondomar  that  Ralegh  should  be  sur- 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  359 

rendered,  unless  Philip  expressly  asked  that  he  should  be  hanged 
in  England  (cf.  'Documents  relating  to  Ralegh's  last  voyages' 
by  S.  R.  Gardiner  in  Camd.  Soc.  Miscellany,  1864,  vol.  v.). 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  at  Plymouth  Ralegh  set  out  for  London ; 
but  at  Ashburton  he  was  arrested  by  his  cousin,  Sir  Lewis  Stucley 
or  Stukeley  [q.  v.],  who  took  him  back  to  Plymouth,  where  he  was 
left  much  to  himself.  The  opportunity  suggested  the  advisability 
of  escaping  to  France,  but  while  he  was  still  hesitating  orders  came 
for  him  to  be  taken  to  London.  There  also  he  was  left  at  large, 
but,  attempting  to  escape  to  a  French  ship  at  Gravesend,  he  was 
arrested,  brought  back,  and  lodged  in  the  Tower.  He  had  mean- 
time drawn  up  his  'Apology'  (Works,  viii.  479),  which  is  rather 
a  justification  of  his  conduct  than  a  defence  against  the  charge. 
'To  James  it  must  have  appeared  tantamount  to  a  confession  of 
guilt ;  to  all  who  knew  what  the  facts  were  it  stamped  him  as  a 
liar  convicted  by  his  own  admission'  (GARDINER,  iii.  141). 

Commissioners  were  now  appointed  to  inquire  into  what  had 
been  done.  With  Lord-chancellor  Bacon  at  their  head,  they  were 
all  men  of  good  repute,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  they 
performed  their  duty  conscientiously;  Ralegh  was  examined,  but 
his  statements  contradicted  each  other,  till,  'exasperated  by  the 
audacity  of  his  lying,  they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  not 
a  single  word  of  truth  in  his  assertions ;  that  his  belief  in  the  very 
existence  of  the  mine  was  a  mere  fiction  invented  for  the  purpose 
of  imposing  upon  his  too  credulous  sovereign'  (ib.  p.  142);  and 
that  his  lies  must  be  taken  as  an  admission  of  his  guilt.  James 
accordingly  gave  orders  for  him  to  be  brought  to  trial,  but  was  told 
that,  as  Ralegh  was  already  under  sentence  of  death,  he  could 
not  now  be  legally  tried.  If  he  was  to  be  executed,  it  must  be 
on  the  former  sentence.  On  22  Oct.  Ralegh  was  brought  for 
the  last  time  before  the  commissioners,  when,  in  the  name  of 
his  colleagues,  Bacon,  after  pronouncing  him  guilty  of  abusing 
the  confidence  of  his  sovereign,  told  him  that  he  was  to  die. 
On  28  Oct.  he  was  brought  before  the  justices  of  the  king's 
bench,  when  he  argued  that  the  Winchester  sentence  was  dis- 
charged by  his  commission  for  the  late  voyage.  He  was  told  that, 
'unless  he  could  produce  an  express  pardon  from  the  king,  no 
argument  that  he  could  use  would  be  admissible.'  In  that  case, 


360  SIDNEY  LEE 

he  answered,  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  throw  himself  on  the  king's 
mercy;  whereupon  the  chief  justice,  Sir  Henry  Montagu  (after- 
wards earl  of  Manchester)  [q.  v.],  awarded  execution  according 
to  law  (ib.  p.  148).  On  the  following  morning,  29  Oct.,  he  was 
brought  to  the  scaffold  erected  in  Old  Palace  Yard.  He  met  his 
death  calmly  and  cheerfully,  and  of  his  last  words  many  have 
become  almost  proverbial.  As  he  laid  his  head  on  the  block  some 
one  objected  that  it  ought  to  be  towards  the  east.  'What  matter,' 
he  answered,  'how  the  head  lie,  so  the  heart  be  right?'  than  which, 
says  Mr.  Gardiner,  no  better  epitaph  could  be  found  for  him. 
An  official  '  Declaration '  of  his  demeanour  and  carriage  was  issued 
a  few  days  later  and  was  frequently  reprinted.  His  remains  were 
delivered  to  his  wife,  and  they  were  buried  in  the  chancel  of  St. 
Margaret's  Church,  Westminster,  in  spite  of  Lady  Ralegh's  wish 
that  he  should  be  buried  at  Beddington ;  the  head  she  caused  to  be 
embalmed,  and  she  kept  it  by  her  in  a  red  leather  bag  as  long  as  she 
lived.  It  seems  to  have  passed  into  the  possession  of  her  son 
Carew,  but  what  ultimately  became  of  it  is  uncertain.  A  me- 
morial window  was  placed  in  1882  by  American  citizens  in  St. 
Margaret's  Church,  with  an  inscription  by  James  Russell  Lowell. 
The  high  position  Ralegh  had  occupied,  the  greatness  of  his  down- 
fall, the  general  feeling  that  the  sentence  pronounced  in  1603  was 
unjust,  and  that  the  carrying  of  it  into  execution  in  1618  was  base, 
all  contributed  to  exalt  the  popular  appreciation  of  his  character. 
His  enemies  had  denounced  him  as  proud,  covetous,  and  unscrupu- 
lous, and  much  evidence  is  extant  in  support  of  the  unfavourable 
judgment.  But  the  circumstances  of  his  death  concentrated 
men's  attention  on  his  bold  exploits  against  his  country's  enemies, 
and  to  him  was  long  attributed  an  importance  in  affairs  of  state  or 
in  conduct  of  war  which  the  recital  of  his  acts  fails  to  justify.  •  He 
was  regarded  as  the  typical  champion  of  English  interests  against 
Spanish  aggression,  a  view  which  found  its  most  concentrated 
expression  in  the  popular  tract  '  Sir  Walter  Rawleigh's  Ghost,  or 
England's  Forewarner,'  by  Thomas  Scott  (Utrecht,  1626,  and 
frequently  reissued).  Physical  courage,  patriotism,  resourceful- 
ness may  be  ungrudgingly  ascribed  to  him.  But  he  had  small 
regard  for  truth,  and  reckless  daring  was  the  main  characteristic 
of  his  stirring  adventures  as  politician,  soldier,  sailor,  and  traveller. 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR    WALTER   RALEGH  361 

Ralegh  acquired,  however,  a  less  ambiguous  reputation  in  the 
pacific  sphere  of  literature,  and  his  mental  calibre  cannot  be 
fairly  judged,  nor  his  versatility  fully  realised,  until  his  achieve- 
ments in  poetry,  in  history,  and  political  philosophy  have  been 
taken  into  account.  However  impetuous  and  rash  was  he  in 
action,  he  surveyed  life  in  his  writings  with  wisdom  and  in 
sight,  and  recorded  his  observations  with  dignity  and  judicial 
calmness. 

It  is  difficult  to  reconcile  the  religious  tone  of  his  writings  with 
the  reputation  for  infidelity  which  attached  to  Ralegh  until  his 
death,  and  was  admitted  to  be  justifiable  by  Hume.  The  charges 
brought  against  Ralegh  and  Marlowe  in  1593  were  repeated  in 
general  terms  within  four  months  after  his  execution  by  Arch- 
bishop Abbot,  who  attributed  the  catastrophe  to  his  'question- 
ing' of  'God's  being  and  omnipotence'  (Abbot  to  Sir  Thomas 
Roe,  19  Feb.  1618-19).  Such  a  charge  seems  confuted  on 
almost  every  page  of  his  'History  of  the  World,'  in  which  he 
follows  in  the  early  chapters  the  Old  Testament  narrative  with 
most  confiding  literalness,  and  earnestly  insists  throughout  on 
God's  beneficence.  A  similar  sentiment  finds  repeated  expression 
in  his  political  essays.  Nor  in  incidental  references  to  the  New 
Testament  does  he  give  any  sign  of  incredulity  (cf.  Historic,  bk.  ii. 
chap.  iv.  sect,  xi.),  and  nothing  actually  inconsistent  with  these 
views  can  be  detected  in  two  works  in  which  he  dealt  with  meta- 
physical speculation.  The  one  'The  Sceptic,'  first  published  in 
1651,  is  a  scholastic  and  inconclusive  dissertation  —  Dr.  Parr 
called  it  a  'lusus  ingenii'  —  in  which  it  is  argued  that  the  end- 
less varieties  of  physical  formation,  temperament,  and  capacity, 
discernible  in  living  organisms,  present  insuperable  obstacles 
to  the  universal  acceptance  among  men  of  any  one  conception  of 
truth.  Doubt  is  therefore  inevitable  to  man's  reason;  but  no 
mention  is  made  of  religious  belief,  which,  it  seems  clear  from 
Ralegh's  references  to  it  elsewhere,  he  did  not  regard  as  dependent 
on  man's  reason.  His  'Treatise  of  the  Soul'  (first  published  in 
the  collected  'Works,'  1829)  is  a  supersubtle  and  barren  inquiry 
into  the  nature  and  function  of  the  soul,  mainly  based  on  scriptural 
texts.  The  contemporary  tone  of  religious  orthodoxy  generated 
reputations  for  infidelity  on  very  slender  provocation,  and  in 


362  SIDNEY  LEE 

Ralegh's  case  the  evil  report  doubtless  sprang  from  his  known  love 
of  orally  discussing  religion  with  men  of  all  opinions,  and  of  thus 
encouraging  freedom  of  speech.  But  his  friend  Sir  John  Haring- 
ton  affirmed  that  he  personally  kept  within  conventional  bounds 
in  such  conferences.  'In  religion/  Harington  wrote  in  1603, 
'  he  hath  shown  in  private  talk  great  depth  and  good  reading,  as  I 
once  experienced  at  his  own  house  before  many  learned  men' 
(Nug&  Antique?,  ii.  132). 

Throughout  his  career  Ralegh  solaced  his  leisure  by  writing 
verse,  much  of  which  is  lost.  All  that  is  positively  known  to 
survive  consists  of  thirty  short  pieces,  many  of  which  were  origi- 
nally published  anonymously,  or  under  his  initials  in  poetical 
anthologies,  like  the  ' Phoenix  Nest,'  1593;  'England's  Helicon,' 
1600;  or  Davison's  'Poetical  Rhapsody,'  1608  (cf.  England's 
Helicon  and  DAVISON'S  Poetical  Rhapsody,  both  edited  by  Mr. 
A.  H.  Bullen).  But  the  signature  of  'Sir  W.  R.'  or  of  'Ignoto,' 
which  he  adopted  occasionally,  is  not  always  conclusive  testimony 
that  the  pieces  to  which  those  signatures  are  attached  were  from 
Ralegh's  pen.  Dr.  Hannah  has  noted  twenty-five  poems  which 
have  been  wrongly  assigned  to  him  on  such  grounds.  Nor  can 
reliance  be  placed  on  the  pretension  advanced  in  behalf  of  very 
many  of  his  poems  that  they  were  penned  '  on  the  night  before  his 
execution.' 

A  fragment  only  remains  of  Ralegh's  chief  effort  in  verse,  a 
poem  called  'Cynthia,  the  Lady  of  the  Sea,'  which  was  probably 
written  during  his  enforced  withdrawals  from  court  in  1589  and 
1592-3.  Gabriel  Harvey  described  so  much  as  was  written 
before  1590  as  'a  fine  and  sweet  invention.'  Puttenham  doubtless 
referred  to  it  in  his  'Arte  of  Poesie'  (1589),  when  he  described 
Ralegh's  'vein'  as  'most  lofty,  insolent,  and  passionate.'  Ed- 
mund Spenser,  who  generously  encouraged  Ralegh's  essays  in 
poetry,  wrote  to  him  in  1590  of  'your  own  excellent  conceit  of 
Cynthia,'  and  thrice  elsewhere  referred  to  the  work  appreciatively, 
viz.  in  a  sonnet  to  Ralegh  prefixed  to  the  first  three  books  of  the 
'Faerie  Queene'  (1590),  in  the  introduction  of  the  third  book, 
and  in  'Colin  Clout's  come  home  again,'  1591.  'The  twenty-first 
and  last  Book  of  the  Ocean  to  Cynthia,'  with  a  few  verses  of  an 
unfinished  twenty-second  book  is  alone  extant;  this  remains 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR    WALTER  RALEGH  363 

among  the  Hatfield  manuscripts,  and  has  been  printed  by  Dr. 
Hannah.  But  the  latter  erroneously  styles  it  '  Continuation  of  the 
lost  poem  ''Cynthia,"  '  and  assigns  it  to  the  period  of  Ralegh's 
imprisonment  in  the  Tower.  The  two  short  poems  which  were 
found  by  Dr.  Hannah  in  the  same  manuscript,  and  are  printed  by 
him  as  introductory  to  the  twenty-first  book,  do  not  appear  to 
form  any  part  of  'Cynthia.'  'The  twenty-first  and  last  book' 
portrays  with  much  poetic  fervour  and  exuberance  the  despair  of 
Ralegh  at  his  exile  from  the  presence  of  'Cynthia,'  who  clearly 
is  intended  for  Queen  Elizabeth.  Ralegh  refers  to  himself  as 
'the  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean,'  an  appellation  that  Spenser  had  con- 
ferred on  him.  The  poem  is  in  four-line  stanzas,  alternately 
rhymed.  Among  other  attractive  specimens  of  Ralegh's  extant 
verse  are  a  fine  epitaph  on  Sir  Philip  Sidney  (first  printed  anony- 
mously in  the  'Phoenix  Nest,'  1593);  two  commendatory  poems 
on  the  'Faerie  Queene'  (in  the  1590  edition  of  the  first  three 
books) ;  'If  all  the  world  and  love  were  young,'  the  reply  to  Mar- 
lowe's 'Come,  live  with  me'  (in  'England's  Helicon,'  1600, 
signed  'Ignoto,'  but  ascribed  to  Ralegh  in  WALTON'S  Compleat 
Angler);  'The  Silent  Lover,'  a  lyric  (signed  'Sir  W.  R.;' 
quoted  by  Lord  Chesterfield  in  Letter  183;  cf.  HANNAH,  p.  20); 
'The  Lie,  or  the  Soul's  Errand,'  beginning  'Go  Soul,  the  body's 
guest'  (written  before  1593;  printed  in  Davison's  'Poetical 
Rhapsody,'  1608  anon.,  and  with  feeble  alterations  and  additional 
stanzas  in  Joshua  Sylvester's  'Posthumi,'  1633  and  1641);  'The 
Pilgrimage'  (probably  written  in  1603;  cf.  Notes  and  Queries, 
ist  ser.  iv.  353),  a  remarkable  proof  of  Ralegh's  resigned  temper 
in  the  presence  of  death,  and  a  poem  of  somewhat  lascivious  tone, 
beginning  'Nature  that  wash'd  her  hands  in  milk,'  which  was 
first  printed  in  full,  from  Harleian  MS.  6917,  f.  48,  in  Mr.  Bul- 
len's  '  Speculum  Amantis,'  p.  76.  The  masterly  concluding  stanza 
('O  cruel  Time,  which  takes  on  trust')  of  this  last  lyric  was 
printed  as  a  separate  poem  in  the  'Remaines.'  Among  the  books 
of  his  friend  which  Ralegh  graced  with  prefatory  verses  were 
Gascoigne's 'Steele  Glas,'  1576;  Sir  Arthur  Gorges's  'Pharsalia,' 
1614;  and  William  Lithgow's  'Pilgrims'  Farewell,'  1618.  Many 
quotations  from  the  classics  are  translated  metrically  in  the 
'History  of  the  World.'  Ralegh's  poems  were  collected  by  Sir 


364  SIDNEY  LEE 

S.  Egerton  Brydges  in  1814,  but  the  best  collection  is  that  by  Dr. 
Hannah,  1885. 

Somewhat  similar  difficulties  to  those  that  attach  to  the  identi- 
fication of  Ralegh's  poetry  beset  his  prose  works.  David  Lloyd, 
in  his  'Statesmen  of  England,'  1665,  states  that  Hampden  before 
the  civil  wars  had  transcribed  at  his  cost  3,452  sheets  of  Ralegh's 
writings.  The  works  remaining  in  manuscript  or  published  under 
his  name  do  not  account  for  so  bulky  a  mass.  That  much  is  lost 
is  known.  The  missing  works  apparently  include  a  'Treatise  of 
the  West  Indies'  (cf.  Discovery  of  Guiana,  Ded.),  a  'Description 
of  the  River  Amazon'  (WOOD),  a  'Treatise  of  Mines  and  the 
Trial  of  Minerals,'  and,  according  to  Ben  Jonson,  a  'Life  of 
Queen  Elizabeth'  (Conversations  with  Drummond). 

Only  three  prose  works  by  Ralegh  were  published  in  his  lifetime. 
The  earliest  was  'A  Report  of  the  Truth  of  the  Fight  about  the 
Isles  of  Azores,'  London  (for  William  Ponsonby),  1591,  anon, 
(reprinted  under  Ralegh's  name  by  Hakluyt  in  1595,  and  sepa- 
rately by  Mr.  Arber  in  1871).  It  was  followed  by  the  'Discovery 
of  the  Empyre  of  Guiana'  (London,  by  Robert  Robinson),  of 
which  two  editions  appeared  in  1596  (copies  of  both  are  in  the 
British  Museum);  this  was  reprinted  in  Hakluyt,  iii.  (1598),  and 
immediately  translated  into  Dutch  (Amsterdam,  1605)  and  into 
Latin  (Nuremberg,  1599,  and  also  in  Hulsius's  'Collection'). 
The  best  edition  is  that  published  by  the  Hakluyt  Society  (1848), 
with  introduction  by  Sir  R.  H.  Schomburgk. 

The  last  work  that  Ralegh  printed  was  his  'History  of  the 
World.'  Begun  for  the  benefit  of  Prince  Henry,  who  died  before 
its  completion,  it  was  executed  while  Ralegh  was  in  the  Tower, 
between,  it  is  said,  1607  and  1614.  During  his  imprisonment  he 
extended  his  learning  in  all  directions,  but  he  did  not  know  Hebrew, 
and  when  he  could  find  no  Latin  translation  of  a  Hebrew  work, 
which  he  deemed  it  needful  to  consult,  he  borrowed  'the  interpre- 
tation' of  some  learned  friend.  He  thus  derived  occasional  aid 
from  Robert  Burhill  [q.  v.],  John  Hoskins  (1566-1638)  [q.  v.], 
and  Harriot;  but  there  is  no  good  reason  to  doubt  that  most  of 
the  660  authors  which  he  cited  were  known  to  him  at  first  hand. 
Ben  Jonson,  who  regarded  Ralegh  as  his  'father'  in  literature, 
claims  to  have  revised  the  'History'  before  it  went  to  press,  and 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  365 

to  have  written  'a  piece  of  the  Punic  War;'  but  even  if  Jonson's 
testimony  be  accepted,  it  does  not  justify  Algernon  Sidney's 
comment,  in  his  'Discourses  on  Government/  that  Ralegh  was 
'so  well  assisted  than  an  ordinary  man  with  the  same  helps 
might  have  performed  the  same  thing.'  In  this  view  Isaac 
D'Israeli  unwarrantably  followed  Sidney.  But  the  insinuation 
that  Ralegh  borrowed  his  plumage  rests  on  no  just  foundation. 

Ralegh's  labours,  which  began  with  the  creation,  only  reached 
to  130  B.C.,  the  date  of  the  conversion  of  Macedonia  into  a  Roman 
province.  He  traced  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  three  great  empires 
of  Babylon,  Assyria,  and  Macedon,  and  dealt  exhaustively  with 
the  most  flourishing  periods  of  Jewish,  Greek,  and  Roman  history. 
As  originally  designed  the  work  was  to  fill  three  volumes,  and  the 
published  volume,  consisting  of  five  books,  is  called  'The  First 
Part.'  But  Ralegh  relinquished  his  task  without  doing  more 
than  amass  a  few  notes  for  a  continuation.  In  a  desultory  fashion 
he  collected  materials  for  an  English  section,  and  asked  Sir  Robert 
Cotton  for  works  on  British  antiquities  and  'any  old  French 
history  wherein  our  nation  is  mentioned.'  But  the  report  that 
he  completed  a  second  volume,  which  he  burnt,  may  be  safely 
rejected.  Winstanley,  in  his  'English  Worthies,'  1660,  who  is 
copied  by  Aubrey,  says  that  the  publisher,  Walter  Burre,  told 
Ralegh  that  the  first  part  had  failed  to  sell,  whereupon  Ralegh 
flung  a  second  completed  part  into  the  fire.  Another  apocryphal 
anecdote  (related  in  Robert  Heron's  'Letters  on  Literature,'  1785, 
p.  213,  and  accepted  by  Carlyle)  assigns  the  same  act  to  Ralegh's 
despair  of  arriving  at  historic  truth,  after  hearing  a  friend  casually 
describe  an  incident  that  both  had  witnessed  in  terms  that  proved 
that  it  took  in  his  friend's  eyes  a  wholly  different  aspect  from  that 
which  it  took  in  his  own. 

The  work  had  so  far  advanced  by  15  April  1611  as  to  warrant  the 
publisher,  Walter  Burre,  in  securing  on  that  date  a  license  for 
publication.  'Sir  Walter  Rawleighe'  is  mentioned  as  the  author 
in  the  'Stationers'  Register'  (ARBER,  iii.  357).  It  was  pub- 
lished in  1614  —  Camden  says  on  29  March.  In  no  extant  copy 
of  either  of  the  two  editions  of  1614  is  the  author's  name  given, 
nor  do  they  contain  a  title-page ;  but  there  is  a  frontispiece  elab- 
orately engraved  by  Reinold  Elstracke,  which  is  explained  in 


366  SIDNEY  LEE 

some  anonymous  verses  ('The  Mind  of  the  Front')  by  Ben 
Jonson.  Of  the  two  editions  of  1614,  the  earlier  supplies  a  list 
of  errata,  which  are  corrected  in  the  later. 

The  work  attained  an  immediate  popularity.  Hampden, 
Cromwell,  Bishop  Hall,  and  Princess  Elizabeth,  the  Electress 
Palatine,  were  among  its  earliest  readers  and  admirers.  James  I 
alone  condemned  it.  He  complained  that  Ralegh  had  in  his 
preface  spoken  irreverently  of  Henry  VIII,  and  he  believed  he 
could  detect  his  own  features  in  Ralegh's  portrait  of  Ninus,  the 
effeminate  successor  of  Queen  Semiramis.  On  22  Dec.  1614  the 
archbishop  of  Canterbury  wrote  asking  the  Stationers'  Company, 
by  direction  of  the  king,  to  call  in  and  suppress  '  all  copies  of  the 
book  lately  published  by  Sir  Walter  Rawleigh '  (ARBER,  Stationers1 
Register,  vol.  v.  p.  Ixxvii).  The  reference  is  obviously  to  the  'His- 
tory of  the  World,'  and  not,  as  Mr.  Gardiner  assumed,  to  Ralegh's 
'Prerogative  of  Parliaments,'  which  was  not  begun  before  May 
1615.  Chamberlain,  the  letter  writer,  declared,  on  5  Jan.  1615- 
16,  that  the  'History'  l  was  called  in  by  the  king's  command- 
ment for  divers  exceptions,  but  especially  for  being  too  saucy  in 
censuring  princes.'  But  the  inhibition  was  apparently  not  per- 
sisted in.  The  book  was  permitted  to  continue  in  circulation  after 
the  publisher  had  contrived  to  cancel  the  title-page  (Notes  and 
Queries,  8th  ser.  v.  441-2).  A  second  edition  appeared  in 
1617  (with  a  title-page  bearing  Ralegh's  name);  others,  in  folio, 
are  dated  1621,  1624,  1628,  1634,  1652  (two),  1666,  1671,  1677 
(with  a  life  by  John  Shirley),  1678,  1687,  1736  (the  'eleventh'). 
An  octavo  reprint  appeared  in  1820  at  Edinburgh  in6vols.,  and 
it  fills  vols.  ii.-vii.  of  the  Oxford  edition  of  Ralegh's  works  of 
1829.  'Tubus  Historicus,  or  Historical  Perspective'  (1631),  a 
summary  of  the  fortunes  of  the  four  great  ancient  empires,  is  a 
bookmaker's  compilation  from  it  rather  than,  what  it  professes 
to  be,  an  independent  production  of  Ralegh's.  An  excerpt,  en- 
titled '  Story  of  the  War  between  the  Carthaginians  and  their  own 
mercenaries  from  Polybius,'  was  issued  in  1657.  Avowed  abridg- 
ments, by  Alexander  Ross  (called  the  'Marrow  of  History')  and 
by  Lawrence  Echard,  are  dated  respectively  1650  and  1698.  A 
brief  continuation,  by  Ross,  from  160  B.C.  to  A.D.  1640  appeared 
in  1652. 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   WALTER  RALEGH  367 

The  design  and  style  of  Ralegh's  'History  of  the  World7  are 
instinct  with  a  magnanimity  which  places  the  book  among  the 
noblest  of  literary  enterprises.  Throughout  it  breathes  a  serious 
moral  purpose.  It  illustrates  the  sureness  with  which  ruin  over- 
takes 'great  conquerors  and  other  troublers  of  the  world'  who 
neglect  law,  whether  human  or  divine,  and  it  appropriately  closes 
with  an  apostrophe  to  death  of  rarely  paralleled  sublimity.  Ra- 
legh did  not  approach  a  study  of  history  in  a  critical  spirit,  and 
his  massive  accumulations  of  facts  have  long  been  superannuated. 
But  he  showed  an  enlightened  appreciation  of  the  need  of  studying 
geography  together  with  history,  and  of  chronological  accuracy. 
His  portraits  of  historical  personages  —  Queen  Jezebel,  Deme- 
trius, Pyrrhus,  Epaminondas  —  are  painted  to  the  life ;  and  the 
frequent  digressions  in  which  he  deals  with  events  of  his  own  day, 
or  with  philosophic  questions  of  perennial  interest,  such  as  the 
origin  of  law,  preserve  for  the  work  much  of  its  original  freshness. 
Remarks  on  the  tactics  of  the  armada,  the  capture  of  Fayal,  the 
courage  of  Englishmen,  the  tenacity  of  Spaniards,  England's  re- 
lations with  Ireland,  emerge  in  the  most  unlikely  surroundings, 
and  are  always  couched  in  judicial  and  dignified  language.  His 
style,  although  often  involved,  is  free  from  conceits. 

To  Ralegh  is  also  traditionally  ascribed  the  history  of  the  reign 
of  William  I  in  Samuel  Daniel's  'History  of  England'  (1618). 
This  essay  closely  resembles  'An  Introduction  to  the  Breviary  of 
the  History  of  England  with  the  reign  of  King  William  I,  entitled 
the  Conqueror,'  which  was  printed  in  1693  from  a  manuscript 
belonging  to  Archbishop  Sancroft,  who  believed  it  to  be  by  Ralegh. 
The  authorship  is  not  quite  certain.  'A  Discourse  of  Tenures 
which  were  before  the  Conquest,'  by  Ralegh,  is  printed  in  the 
Oxford  edition  of  his  works. 

Numerous  essays  by  Ralegh  on  political  themes  were  circulated 
in  manuscript  in  his  lifetime,  and  manuscript  copies  are  to  be  found 
in  many  private  and  public  collections.  The  following,  which  were 
published  after  his  death,  may  be  assigned  to  him  with  certainty : 
i.  'The  Prerogative  of  Parliaments  in  England,'  an  argument, 
suggested  by  the  proceedings  against  St.  John  in  the  Star-chamber 
in  April  1615,  in  favour  of  parliamentary  institutions,  though  over- 
laid with  so  much  conventional  adulation  of  James  I  as  to  obscure 


368  SIDNEY  LEE 

its  real  aim;  1628,  4to  (title-pages  are  met  with  variously  giving 
the  place  of  publication  as  London,  Hamburg,  and  Middleburg), 
dedicated  to  James  I  and  the  parliament;  London,  1657,  with  a 
dedication  to  the  parliament.  2.  *  Advice  to  his  Son,'  London, 
1632,  two  editions;  1636  (a  collection  of  sensible,  if  somewhat 
worldly,  maxims).  3.  'The  Prince,  or  Maxims  of  State,  written 
by  Sir  Walter  Rawley  and  presented  to  Prince  Henry,'  London, 
1642.  4.  'To-day  a  Man,  To-morrow  None,'  London,  1644; 
containing  the  well-known  letter  to  his  wife.  5.  'The  Arraigne- 
ment  and  Conviction  of  Sir  Walter  Rawleigh,'  with  a  few  letters, 
1648.  6.  'Judicious  and  Select  Essays  and  Observations  upon 
the  first  Invention  of  Shipping,  the  Misery  of  Invasive  War,  the 
Navy  Royal,  and  Sea  Service,  with  his  Apology  for  his  Voyage  to 
Guiana,'  London,  1650,  and  1657.  7.  A  collection  of  tracts, 
including  i,  2,  and  3  above,  with  his  'Sceptick,  an  Apology  for 
Doubt,'  'Observations  concerning  the  Magnificency  and  Opu- 
lency  of  Cities,'  an  apocryphal  'Observations  touching  Trade 
and  Commerce,'  and  'Letters  to  divers  persons  of  quality,' 
published  with  full  list  of  contents  on  title-page  in  place  of  any 
general  title  in  1651  and  again  in  1656  (with  Vaughan's  portrait); 
reissued  in  1657,  with  the  addition  of  'The  Seat  of  Government,' 
under  the  general  title  of  'Remaines.'  8.  'The  Cabinet  Council, 
or  the  Chief  Arts  of  Empire  discabinated.  By  that  ever-renowned 
knight  Sir  Walter  Rawleigh,'  published  by  John  Milton,  1658; 
reissued  in  same  year  as  'Chief  Arts  of  Empire'  (cf.  Notes  and 
Queries,  5th  ser.  iii.  302).  9.  'Three  Discourses:  (i.)  of  a  WTar 
with  Spain;  (ii.)  of  the  Cause  of  War;  (iii.)  of  Ecclesiastical 
Power;'  published  by  Philip  Ralegh,  his  grandson,  London,  1702. 
10.  'A  Military  Discourse,  whether  it  would  be  better  to  give  an 
invader  battle  or  to  temporise  and  defer  the  same,'  published  by 
Nath.  Booth  of  Gray's  Inn,  1734.  n.  'The  Interest  of  England 
with  regard  to  Foreign  Alliances,'  on  the  proposed  marriage  al- 
liances with  Savoy,  1750. 

'A  Relation  of  Cadiz  Action  in  the  year  1596,'  first  printed  in 
Cayley's  'Life,'  1805,  chap,  v.,  reappears,  with  many  other  pre- 
viously unprinted  pieces  of  smaller  interest,  including  the  meta- 
physical 'Treatise  of  the  Soul,'  in  the  only  collective  edition  of 
Ralegh's  works,  Oxford,  1829,  8  vols.  8vo.  'Choice  Passages 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR    WALTER   RALEGH  369 

from  the  Writings  and  Letters  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh '  was  edited 
by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Grosart  in  1892. 

Some  of  the  posthumous  publications  attributed  to  his  pen  are 
of  doubtful  authenticity.  'Observations  touching  Trade  and 
Commerce  with  the  Hollands  and  other  Nations'  (1650,  and  in 
'Remaines,'  1651) — an  account  of  a  scheme  for  diverting  the 
Dutch  carrying  trade  into  English  hands,  which  is  repeated  in 
McCulloch's  'Tracts,'  1859  —  is  more  likely  by  John  Keymer. 
'A  Dialogue  between  a  Jesuit  and  a  Recusant  in  1609,'  'The 
Life  and  Death  of  Mahomet'  (1637),  'The  Dutiful  Advice  of  a 
loving  Son  to  his  aged  Father'  (in  Oxford  edit.),  may  be  safely 
rejected  as  obvious  imitations  of  Ralegh's  style.  Two  volumes 
attributed  to  Ralegh  by  Sir  Henry  Sheeres  [q.  v.],  their  editor, 
and  respectively  entitled  'A  Discourse  on  Sea  Ports,  principally 
on  the  Port  and  Haven  of  Dover,'  1700-1  (reprinted  in  'Harleian 
Miscellany')  and  'An  Essay  on  the  Means  to  maintain  the 
Honour  and  Safety  of  England,'  1701,  are  more  probably  by  Sir 
Dudley  Digges  [q.  v.]. 

The  portraits  of  Ralegh  are  numerous.  Among  them  is  a 
full-length,  probably  by  Zucchero,  in  the  National  Portrait  Gal- 
lery, dated  '1588  astatis  suae  34,'  with  a  pair  of  compasses  in  the 
hand;  another,  in  the  Dublin  Gallery,  is  assigned  to  the  same 
artist  ('aet.  44,  1598');  a  third,  with  his  son  Walter  (anon,  dated 
1602),  belongs  to  Sir  John  Farnaby  Lennard,  bart.  (cf.  Cat. 
Tudor  Exhibition,  1890) ;  a  fifth  belongs  to  the  Marquis  of  Bath 
(cf.  Cat.  National  Portraits  at  South  Kensington,  1866,  1868); 
a  beautiful  miniature  at  Belvoir  Castle,  inscribed  'aet.  65,  1618,' 
forms  the  frontispiece  to  Mr.  Stebbing's 'Memoir,'  1891;  and 
a  portrait  by  Isaac  Oliver  is  described  in  the  '  Western  Antiquary/ 
1881  (i.  126).  There  are  engraved  portraits  by  Simon  Pass  (pre- 
fixed to  his  'History  of  the  World,'  1621),  by  R.  Vaughan 
(prefixed  to  his  '  Maxims  of  State'),  by  Houbraken  (in  Birch's 
'Lives'),  and  by  Vertue  (prefixed  to  Oldys's  'Life,'  1735). 

The  spelling  Ralegh  (pronounced  Rawley)  is  that  which  he 
adopted  on  his  father's  death  in  1581,  and  persistently  used  after- 
wards. In  April  1578  he  signed  'Rauleygh'  (Trans,  of  the  Devon 
Assoc.  xv.  174) ;  from  November  1578  (State  Papers,  Dom.  cxxvi. 
46  i)  till  1583  he  signed  'Rauley.'  His  brother  Carew  signed 

2B 


370  SIDNEY  LEE 

'Raullygh'  in  1578  and  'Raulligh'  in  1588  (ib.  ccxvi.  48  i). 
Mr.  Stabbing  gives  (pp.  30-1)  a  list  of  about  seventy  other  ways 
in  which  the  name  has  been  spelt.  The  form  Raleigh  he  is  not 
known  to  have  employed. 

Lady  Ralegh  died  in  1647.  By  her  Ralegh  had  two  sons, 
Walter  and  Carew.  Walter,  baptised  at  Lillington,  Dorset,  on 
i  Nov.  1593,  was  probably  born  at  Sherborne.  He  matriculated 
from  Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford,  on  30  Oct.  1607,  and  gradu- 
ated B.  A.  in  1610,  his  tutor  being  Dr.  Daniel  Fairclough,  alias 
Featley,  who  describes  him  as  addicted  to  '  strange  company  and 
violent  exercises.'  In  1613  Ben  Jonson  accompanied  him  as 
his  governor  or  tutor  to  France.  Jonson  declares  he  was  'knav- 
ishly  inclined/  and  reports  a  humiliating  practical  joke  which 
young  Ralegh  played  on  him  (Conversations  with  Drummond, 
p.  21).  Attending  his  father  in  his  latest  expedition  to  Guiana,  he 
was  killed  at  San  Tomas  before  8  Jan.  1617-18,  when  Cap- 
tain Kemys  announced  his  death  to  his  father. 

The  second  son  CAREW  RALEGH  (1605-1666),  was  born  in  the 
Tower  of  London  and  baptised  at  the  church  of  St.  Peter  ad  Vin- 
cula  on  15  Feb.  1604-5;  Richard  Carew  [q.  v.]  of  Antonie 
was  his  godfather.  In  1619  he  entered  Wadham  College,  Oxford, 
as  a  fellow-commoner,  matriculated  on  23  March  1620-1,  and 
his  name  remained  on  the  books  until  1623  (GARDINER,  Reg.  Wad- 
ham  Coll.  Oxford).  He  is  said  to  have  written  poetry  while  at 
Oxford.  Wood  saw  some  sonnets  of  his  composition ;  a  poem  by 
him  beginning  '  Careless  of  love  and  free  from  fears '  was  printed 
in  Lawes's  'Ayres  and  Dialogues,'  1653  (p.  n).  His  distant 
kinsman  William  Herbert,  third  earl  of  Pembroke,  brought  him  to 
court,  but  James  I  complained  that  he  looked  like  his  father's 
ghost,  and,  taking  the  hint,  he  spent  a  year  in  foreign  travel.  A 
bill  restoring  him  in  blood  passed  through  the  House  of  Lords  in 
1621  and  through  both  houses  of  parliament  in  1624,  but  James  I 
withheld  his  assent,  and,  although  it  was  submitted  again  in  1626, 
it  did  not  receive  the  royal  assent,  till  1628,  when  it  was  made  a 
condition  that  Ralegh  should  resign  all  claim  to  the  Dorset  estates 
(Lords  Journals,  vol.  iii.  passim;  Commons'  Journals,  i.  755  sq.). 
In  other  respects  Charles  I  treated  him  considerately,  and  in  1635 
he  became  a  gentleman  of  the  privy  chamber.  In  1639  he  was 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR    WALTER  RALEGH  371 

sent  to  the  Fleet  prison  for  a  week  and  suspended  from  his  at- 
tendance at  court  for  drawing  his  sword  on  a  fellow-courtier  (cf. 
Hist.  MSS.  Comm.  4th  Rep.  p.  294).  But  he  nominally  remained 
in  the  king's  service  until  the  king's  escape  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  in 
1645.  According  to  Wood,  Charles  I  'honoured  him  with  a  kind 
token  at  his  leaving  Hampton  Court'  (cf.  Lords'  Journals,  vi.  186). 
He  is  said  by  Wood  to  have  'cringed  afterwards  to  the  men  in 
power.'  He  had  long  set  his  heart  on  recovering  his  father's 
estates  at  Sherborne,  and  he  presented  to  the  House  of  Commons 
between  1648  and  1660  several  petitions  on  the  subject,  one  of 
which  —  largely  autobiographical  —  was  published  in  1669  as 
'A  brief  Relation  of  Sir  Walter  Ralegh's  Troubles'  (reprinted 
in  Harl.  Misc.  and  in  Somers  Tracts;  cf.  Commons'  Journals, 
vi.  595,  viii.  131  seq. ;  Lords'  Journals,  xi.  115  seq.).  Wood  chroni- 
cles a  rumour  that  ne  defended  his  father's  memory  by  writing 
'Observation  upon  some  particular  persons  and  passages  [in 
William  Sanderson's  'Compleat  History'],  written  by  a  Lover  of 
the  Truth,'  London,  1659,  4to.  The  pamphlet  doubtless  owed 
something  to  Carew's  suggestions.  He  certainly  expostulated 
with  James  Ho  well  for  expressing  doubt  in  his  '  Epistolae  Hoeli- 
anae'  of  the  existence  of  the  mine  in  Guiana,  and  induced  Howell 
to  retract  his  suspicions  in  1635  (cf.  Epistola  Hoel.  ed.  Jacobs,  ii. 
479  seq.).  Meanwhile  he  took  some  active  part  in  politics.  He 
sat  in  parliament  as  member  for  Haselmere  (1648-53) ;  Carlyle  is 
apparently  in  error  in  saying  that  he  represented  Callington  in  the 
closing  years  of  the  Long  parliament  (Notes  and  Queries,  6th  ser. 
vol.  xii.  passim,  yth  ser.  vol.  i.  passim).  In  May  1650  he  was 
committed  to  the  Tower  for  a  few  days  for  '  passionate  words ' 
spoken  at  a  committee  (Commons  Journals,  vi.  413,  416).  On 
10  Aug.  1658  John  Evelyn  dined  with  him  in  his  house  at  West 
Horsley  (EVELYN,  Diary,  ii.  102).  He  took  his  place  in  the  re- 
stored Rump  parliament  on  7  May  1659,  and  sat  regularly  till  the 
members  were  expelled  on  13  Oct.  He  was  reinstated  with  his 
fellow-members  on  26  Dec.  and  attended  the  house  till  the  dis- 
solution in  March  (MASSON,  Milton,  iv.).  He  zealously  seconded 
Monck's  efforts  for  the  restoration,  and  through  Monck's  influence 
was  appointed  governor  of  Jersey  on  29  Feb.  1659-60  (WHITE- 
LOCKE,  p.  697),  but  it  is  doubtful  if  he  visited  the  island.  On 


372  SIDNEY  LEE 

Charles  IPs  return  he  declined  knighthood,  and  the  honour  was 
conferred  upon  his  son  Walter  (15  June  1660).  He  owned  prop- 
erty in  Surrey;  in  1629  the  Earl  of  Southampton  conveyed  to  him 
the  manor  of  East  Horsley,  and  he  succeeded  in  1643,  on  the  death 
of  his  uncle  Sir  Nicholas  Throgmorton,  to  the  estate  of  West 
Horsley  (MANNING  and  BRAY,  Surrey,  iii.  31;  BRAYLEY  and 
BRITTEN,  Surrey,  ii.  76).  In  December  1656  Ralegh  settled  the 
West  Horsley  property  on  his  sons  Walter  and  Philip,  but  the 
arrangement  was  voided  by  Walter's  death,  about  1663,  and  he 
sold  the  estate  in  1665  to  Sir  Edward  Nicholas  for  9,75o/.  (Gent. 
Mag.  1790,  i.  419).  Ralegh's  London  house  was  in  St.  Martin's 
Lane,  and,  dying  there  in  1666,  he  was  buried  on  i  Jan.  1666-7, 
in  his  father's  grave  in  St.  Margaret's  Church,  Westminster.  The 
register  describes  him  as  'kild,'  which  has  been  interpreted  as 
murdered.  By  his  will  he  made  his  widow  sole  executrix  (Gent. 
Mag.  1850,  ii.  368).  He  married  Philippa  (born  Weston),  'the 
rich  widow  of  Sir  Anthony  Ashley.'  His  son  Philip,  of  London 
and  Tenchley  in  Surrey,  was  stated  in  1695  to  have  four  sons  (Wal- 
ter, Carew,  and  two  others)  and  three  daughters  (LE  NEVE, 
Knights,  p.  74) ;  he  edited  in  1702  No.  9  in  the  list  given  above  of 
his  grandfather's  tracts,  and  died  in  1705.  Carew's  daughter 
Anne  married  Sir  Philip  Tyrell  of  Castlethorpe  (WOOD,  A  thence 
Oxon.  ed.  Bliss,  ii.  244). 

The  commonly  repeated  statement  that  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  also 
left  an  illegitimate  daughter  rests  apparently  on  a  reference  made 
by  Ralegh  'to  my  poor  daughter  to  whom  I  have  given  nothing,' 
in  a  letter  which  he  is  reputed  to  have  addressed  to  his  wife  in  July 
1603.  'Teach  thy  son,'  he  adds,  'to  love  her  for  his  father's 
sake.'  The  letter,  the  genuineness  of  which  is  doubtful,  was  first 
printed  in  Bishop  Goodman's  'Court  of  James  T  (ed.  Brewer, 
1839;  cf.  EDWARDS,  ii.  383-387;  STEBBING,  pp.  195-8). 


THE  LIFE  OF   SIR   PHILIP   SIDNEY  373 

THE   LIFE   OF   SIR   PHILIP   SIDNEY 

SIDNEY  LEE 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.'} 

SIDNEY,  SIR  PHILIP  (1554-1586),  soldier,  statesman,  and  poet, 
born  at  Penshurst  30  Nov.  1554,  was  eldest  son  of  Sir  Henry 
Sidney  [q.  v.]  by  his  wife  Mary,  daughter  of  John  Dudley,  duke 
of  Northumberland.  A  tree  still  standing  in  Penshurst  Park  is 
identified  with  one  which,  according  to  Ben  Jonson, 

Of  a  nut  was  set, 
At  his  great  birth,  where  all  the  Muses  met. 

His  godfathers  were  Philip  II  of  Spain,  Queen  Mary's  husband, 
after  whom  he  was  named,  and  John  Russell,  first  earl  of  Bedford 
[q.  v.].  His  godmother  was  his  widowed  grandmother,  Jane, 
duchess  of  Northumberland.  The  child's  infancy  was  apparently 
passed  at  Penshurst.  When  he  was  nine  and  a  half  his  father, 
who  was  lord  president  of  Wales,  appointed  him  lay  rector  of  the 
church  of  Whitford,  Flintshire,  of  which  the  incumbent,  Hugh 
Whitford,  had  just  been  deprived  on  account  of  his  Roman 
Catholic  leanings.  On  8  May  1564  Gruff  John,  rector  of  Skyneog, 
acting  as  Philip's  proctor,  was  duly  admitted  to  the  church  and 
rectory  of  Whitford,  and  Philip  thenceforth  derived  from  the  bene- 
fice an  income  of  6o/.  a  year  (cf.  manuscripts  at  Penshurst).  On 
16  Nov.  1564  he  entered  Shrewsbury  school,  of  which  Thomas 
Ashton  was  the  master.  Fulke  Greville  [q.  v.]  entered  the  school 
on  the  same  day,  and  their  friendship  was  only  interrupted  by 
death. 

Of  Sidney's  youth  Greville  wrote :  '  I  will  report  no  other  won- 
der than  this,  that,  though  I  lived  with  him  and  knew  him  from 
a  child,  yet  I  never  knew  him  other  than  a  man ;  with  such  staidness 
of  mind,  lovely  and  familiar  gravity,  as  carried  grace  and  reverence 
above  greater  years ;  his  talk  ever  of  knowledge,  and  his  very  play 
tending  to  enrich  his  mind,  so  that  even  his  teachers  found  some- 
thing in  him  to  observe  and  learn  above  that  which  they  had  usually 
read  or  taught.  Which  eminence  by  nature  and  industry  made  his 


374  SIDNEY  LEE 

worthy  father  style  Sir  Philip  in  my  hearing,  though  I  unseen, 
lumen  families  suce.'  A  grave  demeanour  accentuated  through 
life  his  personal  fascination. 

From  his  infancy  Philip  was  a  lover  of  learning.  At  the  age 
of  eleven  he  wrote  letters  to  his  father  in  both  French  and  Latin, 
and  Sir  Henry  sent  him  advice  on  the  moral  conduct  of  life,  which 
might  well  have  been  addressed  to  one  of  maturer  years.  In  1568 
Philip  left  Shrewsbury  for  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  There  he 
continued  to  make  rapid  progress,  and  the  circle  of  his  admirers 
grew.  His  tutor,  Thomas  Thornton,  left  directions  that  the  fact 
that  Philip  had  been  his  pupil  should  be  recorded  on  his  tomb- 
stone. His  chief  friends  at  Christ  Church  were  Richard  Carew 
[q.  v.],  Richard  Hakluyt  [q.  v.],  and  William  Camden.  But,  as 
at  Shrewsbury,  his  most  constant  companion  was  Greville,  who 
joined  Broadgates  Hall  (now  Pembroke  College)  at  the  same  time 
as  Philip  went  to  Christ  Church.  His  health  was  delicate,  and 
his  uncle,  Leicester,  who  was  chancellor  of  the  university,  wrote 
to  Archbishop  Parker  soliciting  a  license  to  eat  flesh  during  Lent 
in  behalf  of  'my  boy  Philip  Sidney,  who  is  somewhat  subject  to 
sickness.'  On  2  Aug.  1568  Sir  Henry  visited  his  son  at  Oxford, 
and  took  him  back  with  him  to  Ludlow.  On  the  road  they  turned 
aside  to  inspect  Leicester's  castle  of  Kenil worth. 

An  earlier  introduction  of  the  boy  to  Sir  William  Cecil  had  in- 
spired that  statesman  with  an  active  interest  in  his  welfare.  Writ- 
ing to.  his  father  on  9  Aug.  1568,  Cecil  sent  his  remembrances  to 
'the  darling  Philip.'  On  3  Sept.  Cecil  wrote  reproaching  Sir 
Henry  for  having  carried  away  'your  son  and  my  scholar  from 
Oxford. '  Philip  spent  his  holidays  at  the  end  of  the  year  with  the 
Cecils  at  Hampton  Court.  'He  is  worthy  to  be  loved,'  wrote 
Cecil  to  his  father,  'and  so  I  do  love  him  as  he  were  my  own' 
(5  Jan.  1569).  Sir  Henry  took  practical  advantage  of  the  affection 
which  his  son  inspired  in  the  great  statesman  by  proposing  that  a 
marriage  should  be  arranged  between  Philip  and  Cecil's  elder 
daughter,  Anne,  who  was  two  years  the  lad's  junior.  Cecil  po- 
litely hinted  in  reply  that  his  daughter,  who  was  only  thirteen, 
must  seek  a  richer  suitor.  Sir  Henry  anxiously  pressed  the  negotia- 
tion. He  or  his  brother-in-law,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  heartily 
approved  the  match,  undertook  to  provide  Philip  with  an  income 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  375 

of  266^.  135.  4^.  on  the  day  of  his  marriage,  with  a  reversion  to  a 
fixed  income  of  84o/.  45.  2d.  and  other  sums  on  the  death  of  his 
parents.  Cecil  soon  agreed  to  pay  down  i,ooo/.  and  to  leave  his 
daughter  an  annuity  of  66/.  135.  $d.  A  marriage  settlement  was 
drafted  on  these  lines,  but  Sir  Henry  mislaid  it  when  it  was  sent  to 
him  to  Ireland  for  signature,  and,  although  on  24  Feb.  1570  Sir 
Henry  wrote  to  Cecil  that  he  would  not  wish  the  match  broken  off, 
even  if  his  son  were  offered  'the  hand  of  the  greatest  prince's 
daughter  in  chrysendom,'  the  scheme  fell  through.  Philip  often 
wrote  to  Cecil  while  the  marriage  negotiations  were  in  progress, 
and  expressed  anxiety  to  stand  high  in  his  estimation,  but  no  ref- 
erence was  made  to  Anne,  and  it  is  obvious  that  the  boy  and  girl 
were  not  consulted.  Cecil  arranged  next  year  for  Anne's  marriage 
with  Edward  Vere,  seventeenth  earl  of  Oxford  [q.  v.].  On  26  Oct. 
1573  it  was  suggested  that  both  Philip  and  his  brother  Robert 
should  be  married  to  daughters  of  the  twelfth  Lord  Berkeley,  but 
the  suggestion  was  not  seriously  entertained. 

Early  in  1571  the  plague  raged  at  Oxford,  and  Philip  left  the 
university,  not  to  return.  He  took  no  degree.  The  next  few 
months  seem  to  have  been  spent  partly  at  Ludlow  with  his  family, 
partly  at  Kenilworth  with  his  uncle  Leicester,  and  partly  at  Pens- 
hurst,  but  he  contrived  to  pay  frequent  visits  to  the  court.  In 
May  1572  he  received  the  queen's  license  to  undertake  a  two  years' 
visit  to  the  continent  'for  his  attaining  the  knowledge  of  foreign 
languages.'  Leicester,  in  a  letter  of  introduction  forwarded  to 
Francis  Walsingham,  the  English  ambassador  at  Paris,  described 
his  nephew  as  'young  and  raw.'  Philip  left  London  on  26  May 
in  the  suite  of  the  Earl  of  Lincoln,  who  was  proceeding  to  the 
French  court  to  negotiate  a  marriage  between  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  the  Due  d'Alencon.  He  remained  in  Paris  for  nearly  three 
months,  residing  at  the  English  embassy.  Walsingham  intro- 
duced him  to  the  leaders  of  French  society,  and  Charles  IX,  king 
of  France,  gave  him  a  cordial  welcome,  bestowing  on  him  the  title 
of  baron  and  appointing  him  gentleman  in  ordinary  of  the  royal 
bedchamber.  With  the  religious  sentiments  of  the  Huguenots 
he  was  already  in  deep  sympathy,  and  he  was  soon  on  terms  of 
close  intimacy  with  their  leaders.  Henry  of  Navarre  treated  him 
as  a  friend  and  equal,  and  Phih'p  was  doubtless  present  on  18  Aug. 


376  SIDNEY  LEE 

at  Henry's  marriage  in  Notre  Dame  with  Margaret,  the  king's 
sister.  There  followed  on  23  Aug.,  on  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew's 
day,  the  great  massacre  of  the  protestants.  Sidney  enjoyed  the 
protection  of  the  English  embassy,  and  ran  no  personal  risk,  but 
on  9  Sept.  1572,  when  the  news  of  the  great  crime  reached  the 
English  privy  council,  Burghley  and  Leicester  at  once  despatched 
orders  to  Walsingham  to  procure  passports  for  Sidney  so  that  he 
might  at  once  leave  the  country.  In  charge  of  Dr.  Watson  he 
set  out  for  Lorraine,  whence  he  passed  to  Strasburg  and  afterwards 
down  the  Rhine  through  Heidelberg  to  Frankfort.  Between 
March  and  June  1573  he  lodged  at  Frankfort  with  Andrew  Wechel, 
a  learned  printer. 

In  the  same  house  there  was  living  Hubert  Languet,  the  learned 
protestant  controversialist  and  scholar.  Languet  was  fifty-four 
years  old,  but  similarity  of  tastes  and  views  attracted  him  to  the 
young  traveller,  and  there  sprang  up  between  them  a  lasting 
friendship.  To  Languet's  influence  Sidney  attributed  practically 
all  his  knowledge  of  literature  and  religion.  In  the  'Arcadia' 
Sidney  recalled  how  Languet's  'good  strong  staff  '  his  'slippery 
years  upbore.'  In  the  summer  of  1573  Sidney  accompanied 
Languet  to  Vienna,  and  visited  the  court  of  the  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian II.  In  August  he  left  Vienna  ostensibly  to  make  a  three 
daysr  journey  to  Presburg,  but  he  remained  in  Hungary  more  than 
a  month.  After  returning  for  a  few  weeks  to  Vienna  in  October, 
he  left  Languet  to  make  an  extended  tour  in  Italy.  On  parting 
they  agreed  to  correspond  with  each  other  every  week.  The  older 
man  seems  to  have  kept  the  bargain  more  faithfully  than  the 
younger,  but  many  interesting  letters  from  Sidney  survive.  Sir 
Thomas  Coningsby  [q.  v.],  Lodowick  or  Lewis  Bryskett  [q.  v.], 
and  Griffin  Madox,  a  faithful  servant,  bore  him  company  in  Italy. 
Most  of  his  time  was  spent  at  Venice,  where  the  council  of  ten 
granted  him  a  license  to  bear  arms  in  all  parts  of  the  republic's 
dominions.  Arnaud  du  Ferrier,  the  French  ambassador,  and 
Count  Philip  Lewis  of  Hanau,  a  visitor  like  himself,  showed  him 
many  attentions.  He  came  to  know  the  painters  Tintoretto  and 
Paolo  Veronese,  and  he  enjoyed  the  magnificent  hospitality 
of  the  Venetian  merchants.  At  Venice  he  also  continued  his 
studies,  learning  astronomy  and  music,  and  reading  history  and 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY 


377 


current  Italian  literature.  Languet  sent  him  valuable  advice, 
urging  him  to  form  his  Latin  style  on  Cicero's  letters,  and  not  to 
absorb  himself  in  astronomy  and  geometry.  Such  services  tended 
to  gravity,  of  which  Sidney  already  possessed  abundance.  'lam 
more  sober/  Sidney  admitted  in  reply,  'than  my  age  or  business 
requires.'  During  the  early  months  of  1574  Sidney  visited  Genoa, 
and  spent  several  weeks  at  Padua.  In  February  he  sat  to  Paolo 
Veronese  for  his  portrait  (now  lost)  which  was  sent  as  a  gift  to 
Languet.  Languet  thought  the  expression  '  too  sad  and  thought- 
ful.' 

During  the  latter  part  of  Sidney's  stay  in  Venice,  politics  chiefly 
occupied  him.  He  sent  letters  to  Leicester  full  of  enthusiasm  for 
the  protestant  cause.  At  Nimeguen  on  15  April  1574  Count 
Lewis  of  Nassau  (brother  of  William  of  Orange),  whom  Sidney  had 
met  both  at  Paris  and  Frankfort,  was  killed  in  battle  with  the  Span- 
iards, and  the  sad  incident  filled  Sidney  with  fears  for  the  future 
of  protestantism.  In  July  1574  Sidney,  whose  health  was  still 
weak,  fell  seriously  ill  from  drinking  too  much  water,  it  was 
thought.  He  long  felt  the  effects  of  the  illness. 

At  the  end  of  July  Sidney  left  Italy  to  revisit  Languet  at  Vienna, 
and  he  accompanied  him  to  Poland.  There  he  is  said  to  have 
received  and  to  have  rejected  a  suggestion  that  he  should  offer  him- 
self as  a  candidate  for  the  throne  which  Henry  of  Valois  had 
vacated  in  June  on  succeeding  to  the  crown  of  France.  In  De- 
cember he  sent  to  Lord  Burghley  from  Vienna  a  survey  of  politics 
in  the  east  of  Europe,  and  he  was  apparently  entrusted  during  the 
winter  with  some  diplomatic  duties  as  secretary  of  legation,  jointly 
with  Edward  Wotton.  Together  they  learnt  horsemanship  from 
John  Peter  Pugliano,  esquire  of  the  emperor's  stables,  and  Sidney 
gave  a  vivid  account  in  the  opening  passage  of  his  'Apologie  for 
Poetrie'  of  Pugliano's  enthusiasm  for  soldiers  and  horses.  At  the 
end  of  February  1575  Sidney  rode  in  the  train  of  the  emperor  from 
Vienna  to  Prague,  whither  the  emperor  went  to  preside  over  the 
Bohemian  diet.  While  still  at  Prague,  early  in  March,  Sidney 
received  a  summons  to  return  home.  Reports  had  been  circulated 
that  he  had  become  a  catholic,  but  Languet  proved  in  a  letter  to 
Walsingham,  how  secretary  of  state,  the  absurdity  of  the  rumour. 
Sidney  travelled  by  way  of  Dresden,  Heidelberg,  Strasburg,  Frank- 


378  SIDNEY  LEE 

fort,  and  Antwerp,  reaching  London  early  in  June  1575.  He 
visited  or  was  visited  by  many  learned  men  on  the  way.  Zacharias 
Ursinus,  the  protestant  controversialist,  and  Henri  Estienne 
(Stephanus),  the  classical  printer,  who  dedicated  to  Sidney  his  edi- 
tion of  Herodian  in  1581,  met  him  at  Heidelberg.  Languet  spent 
some  time  with  him  at  Frankfort  ( JANSON,  De  Vitis  Stephanorum, 
Amsterdam,  1683,  p.  67). 

Settled  again  in  England,  Sidney  frequented  the  court,  where 
his  uncle  Leicester  was  anxious  to  advance  his  interests.  Walsing- 
ham  also  gave  him  a  kindly  welcome,  and  the  queen  received  him 
favourably.  In  July  1576  he  was  present  at  the  ornate  festivities 
with  which  Leicester  entertained  his  sovereign  at  Kenilworth. 
Thence  he  removed  with  the  court  to  Chartley  Castle,  the  seat  of 
Walter  Devereux,  first  earl  of  Essex  [q.  v.].  His  charm  of  manner 
at  once  captivated  the  earl.  At  Chartley,  too,  he  probably  first 
met  the  earl's  daughter  Penelope,  then  a  girl  twelve  years  old,  who 
some  years  later  was  to  excite  in  him  an  overmastering  passion. 
Now  Philip  had  other  troubles.  His  pecuniary  position  was  un- 
satisfactory. In  August  1575  he  gave  a  bond  for42/.  65.  to  Richard 
Rodway,  a  London  tailor,  and  later  he  sent  a  boot  bill  for  4/.  los. 
4d.  to  his  father's  steward  with  a  request  that  he  would  meet  it. 
In  the  winter  of  1576  he  was  staying  at  his  uncle's  house  in  London, 
and  was  improving  his  acquaintance  with  Essex,  whose  guest  he 
often  was  at  Durham  House.  Essex  saw  in  him  a  promising 
suitor  for  his  daughter  Penelope.  In  July  Essex  travelled  to  Ire- 
land to  take  up  his  appointment  as  earl  marshal.  Philip  went 
with  him  in  order  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  father,  who  was  then  lord 
deputy.  Father  and  son  met  at  Dublin,  and  in  September  travelled 
together  to  Athlone  and  Galway,  where  Philip  saw  much  of  the 
difficulties  of  Irish  government.  On  21  Sept.  his  new  friend,  Essex, 
died  at  Dublin.  Almost  his  last  words  were  of  his  admiration  for 
Philip :  '  I  wish  him  well  —  so  well  that,  if  God  move  their  hearts, 
I  wish  that  he  might  match  with  my  daughter.  I  call  him  son  — 
he  is  so  wise,  virtuous,  and  godly.  If  he  go  on  in  the  course  he 
hath  begun,  he  will  be  as  famous  and  worthy  a  gentleman  as  ever 
England  bred.'  The  earl's  secretary,  Edward  Waterhouse  [q.  v.], 
wrote  to  Sir  Henry  Sidney  on  14  Nov.  that  his  late  master  anxiously 
desired  Philip's  marriage  with  the  Lady  Penelope,  and  spoke  of  the 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  379 

dishonour  that  would  attend  a  breach  of  the  engagement  (Sydney 
Papers,  i.  147). 

Philip  was  a  serious  youth  of  two-and-twenty,  and  the  girl  a 
coquette  of  fourteen.  They  were  thenceforth  often  in  each  other's 
society,  and  he  began  addressing  to  her  the  series  of  sonnets  in 
which  he  called  himself  Astrophel  and  the  lady  Stella.  But  it 
would  appear  that  Sidney's  relations  with  Penelope  very  slowly 
passed  beyond  the  bounds  of  friendship.  At  the  outset,  his  sonnets 
were,  in  all  probability,  mere  literary  exercises  designed  in  emula- 
tion of  those  addressed  by  the  Earl  of  Surrey  to  Geraldine,  which 
were  themselves  inspired  by  Petrarch's  sonnets  to  Laura;  Surrey's 
'lyrics'  are  eulogised  by  Sidney  in  his  'Apologie  for  Poetrie' 
(p.  51).  Neither  his  nor  Penelope's  friends  regarded  their  union 
with  serious  favour,  while  some  references  in  Philip's  correspond- 
ence with  Languet  during  1578  suggest  that  he  had  no  immediate 
intention  of  submitting  to  the  restraints  of  matrimony.  In  such 
sonnets  as  can  be  assigned  on  internal  evidence  to  an  early  date, 
Sidney  confined  himself  to  calm  eulogies  of  Penelope's  beauty. 
When  a  deeper  note  was  sounded,  Stella  had  become  another's 
wife  [see  RICH,  PENELOPE,  LADY  RICH],  and  it  was  her  marriage 
in  1581  that  seems  to  have  first  stirred  in  Sidney  a  genuine  and 
barely  controllable  passion. 

Public  affairs  absorbed  too  much  of  his  interest  to  render  him 
an  easy  prey  to  women's  blandishments.  Early  in  1577  he  was 
directed  to  convey  Elizabeth's  messages  of  condolence  and  con- 
gratulation to  the  Elector  Palatine  Lewis  at  Heidelberg,  and  to 
the  Emperor  Rudolf  II  at  Prague.  Both  princes  had  just  suc- 
ceeded to  their  thrones  on  the  death  of  their  fathers.  His  friend 
Fulke  Greville  accompanied  him,  and  Sir  Henry  Lee  and  Sir 
Jerome  Bowes  were  members  of  his  suite.  Permission  was  granted 
him  to  confer  with  the  rulers  whom  he  met  abroad  about  the  wel- 
fare of  the  reformed  religion  and  of  civil  liberty.  Arrived  in  the 
Low  Countries,  Sidney  paid  his  respects  at  Louvain  to  Don  John 
of  Austria,  the  Spanish  general,  who  showed  him  every  civility. 
While  awaiting  in  the  middle  of  March  the  arrival  of  the  Lutheran 
Elector  Lewis  at  Heidelberg,  he  had  much  friendly  intercourse  with 
the  elector's  brother,  John  Casimir,  a  bigoted  Calvinist.  His  in- 
structions ordered  him  to  urge  a  reconciliation  between  the  Luther- 


380  SIDNEY  LEE 

ans  and  Calvinists  of  the  Palatinate,  and  to  demand  certain  sums 
of  money  which  Queen  Elizabeth  had  lent  the  late  elector.  In 
neither  negotiation  did  he  make  much  progress.  He  left  Heidel- 
berg while  the  Elector  Lewis  was  still  absent,  and  on  Easter  Mon- 
day he  presented  his  credentials  to  the  emperor  at  Prague.  In  defi- 
ance alike  of  his  instructions  and  of  diplomatic  etiquette,  he  recom- 
mended the  emperor,  in  an  impassioned  oration,  to  form  a  league 
of  nations  against  the  tyrannies  of  Spain  and  Rome  —  an  appeal 
which  the  emperor  naturally  ignored.  At  Prague,  Sidney  paid  a 
visit  of  condolence  to  the  widow  of  the  late  Emperor  Maximilian, 
and  to  his  daughter,  the  widow  of  the  French  king,  Charles  IX; 
but  he  passed  most  of  his  time  with  Languet  and  his  friends.  On 
the  return  journey  in  April,  Languet  accompanied  Sidney  to 
Neustadt,  where  he  met  the  Elector  Lewis,  and  begged  him  to 
bring  the  strife  between  the  Lutherans  and  Calvinists  in  his  domin- 
ions to  a  close.  He  visited  the  Landgrave  William  of  Hesse; 
but  of  all  the  princes  and  statesmen  whom  he  interviewed,  only 
John  Casimir  expressed  approval  of  his  project  of  a  protestart 
league.  At  Cologne  Languet  left  him,  and,  in  conformity  with 
new  instructions  and  his  own  wishes,  he  turned  aside  from  Antwerp 
to  offer  Queen  Elizabeth's  congratulations  to  William  of  Orange 
on  the  birth  of  a  son.  William  received  him  with  enthusiasm  at 
Dordrecht,  and  invited  him  to  stand  godfather  at  the  boy's  bap- 
tism. Sidney  left  on  William  of  Orange  the  best  possible  impres- 
sion. The  prince  subsequently  declared  that  her  majesty  had 
in  Sidney  one  of  the  ripest  and  greatest  counsellors  of  state  that 
lived  in  Europe  (GREVILLE,  p.  31).  Very  early  in  June  Sidney 
arrived  at  the  court  at  Greenwich,  and  on  the  pth  Walsingham 
wrote  to  Philip's  father  in  Ireland:  'There  hath  not  been  any 
gentleman,  I  am  sure,  these  many  years  that  hath  gone  through  so 
honourable  a  charge  with  as  great  commendations  as  he.' 

On  21  April  1577  Philip's  sister  Mary  had  married  Henry 
Herbert,  second  earl  of  Pembroke  [q.  v.],  and  in  July  he  hurried 
down  to  his  sister's  new  home  at  Wilton  to  pay  her  the  first  of 
many  visits  there.  But  he  soon  returned  to  court  in  order  to  use 
his  influence  with  the  queen  against  those  who  were  poisoning  her 
mind  as  to  his  father's  conduct  of  the  Irish  government.  When 
the  Earl  of  Ormonde,  who  had  steadily  resisted  Sir  Henry  Sidney 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  381 

in  Dublin,  arrived  on  a  visit  to  the  queen,  Philip  was  anxious  to 
incite  him  to  a  personal  encounter.  In  September  he  drew  up 
an  elaborate  treatise,  for  the  queen's  perusal,  in  defence  of  his 
father's  Irish  policy  (in  Brit.  Mus.  Cotton  MSS.  Titus  B.  xii.  ff. 
557-9).  It  was  divided  into  seven  sections,  of  which  the  first  three 
are  missing,  but  enough  survives  to  attest  Philip's  masterly  grasp 
of  the  most  difficult  problem  that  confronted  English  statesmen. 
He  proved  his  father's  wisdom  in  levying  taxation  equally  on  the 
great  Anglo-Irish  nobles,  the  poorer  settlers,  and  the  native  popu- 
lation, and  attributed  the  frequency  of  disturbance  to  the  unreason- 
able and  arrogant  pretensions  of  the  nobility.  For  the  moment 
the  queen  was  pacified  by  his  arguments,  and  Sir  Henry  enjoyed 
a  few  months'  peace. 

Philip's  position  at  court  was  growing  steadily  in  influence  and 
dignity.  In  the  summer  of  1577  he  entertained  Philip  du  Plessis 
Mornay,  an  envoy  from  the  French  protestants,  who  brought  an 
introduction  to  him  from  Languet.  When  in  June  1578  Mornay 
and  his  wife  paid  a  second  visit  to  England,  Philip  stood  godfather 
to  an  infant  daughter  who  was  born  during  the  parents'  visit. 
On  new  year's  day  1578  he  presented  the  queen  not  only  with  a 
cambric  smock,  the  sleeves  and  collar  wrought  in  black  and  edged 
with  gold  and  silver  lace,  but  also  with  a  pair  of  ruffs  laced  with 
gold  and  silver,  and  set  with  spangles  that  weighed  four  ounces. 
The  queen  sent  him  in  return  gilt  plate  weighing  twenty-two 
ounces.  When  the  queen  visited  Leicester  on  the  following 
May-day  at  Wanstead,  Philip  turned  his  literary  gifts  to  account, 
and  prepared  a  fantastic  masque  in  her  honour  entitled  'The 
Lady  of  May.' 

Philip's  wide  intellectual  interests  led  him  at  the  same  time  to 
extend  the  circle  of  his  friends  beyond  the  limits  of  the.  court. 
'There  was  not,'  wrote  Greville,  'an  approved  painter,  skilful 
engineer,  excellent  musician,  or  any  other  artificer  of  fame  that 
made  not  himself  known  to  him.'  But  it  was  with  men  of  letters 
that  he  found  himself  in  fullest  sympathy.  When,  in  July  1578, 
representatives  of  Cambridge  University  waited  on  the  queen, 
while  she  was  staying  at  Audley  End  (near  Saffron  Walden), 
Gabriel  Harvey  [q.  v.  ,  who  was  a  member  of  the  deputation,  met 
Sidney,  who  was  in  attendance  on  Elizabeth.  That  eccentric 


382  SIDNEY  LEE 

scholar  at  once  fell  under  the  sway  of  his  fascination,  and  in  his 
'  Gratulationes  Valdinenses'  which  celebrated  the  royal  visit  he 
included  an  enthusiastic  Latin  eulogy  of  his  new  friend.  It  was 
doubtless  Harvey  who  recommended  his  pupil  Edmund  Spenser 
to  Sidney's  notice,  and  to  the  notice  of  Sidney's  uncle,  Leicester. 
At  the  end  of  1578  Spenser  was  Leicester's  guest  in  London  at 
Leicester  House,  and  there  Sidney  frequently  met  him.  Sir 
Edward  Dyer  [q.  v.],  a  court  acquaintance  of  Sidney,  shared  his 
affection  for  literature,  and  he,  too,  spent  much  time  with  Spenser 
at  Leicester  House.  On  16  Oct.  1579  the  poet  wrote  to  Harvey: 
'The  two  worthy  gentlemen,  Mr.  Sidney  and  Mr.  Dyer,  have 
me,  I  thank  them,  at  some  use  in  familiarity'  (cf.  GABRIEL 
HARVEY'S  Letterbook,  Camden  Soc.  p.  101).  Spenser's  devotion 
to  Sidney  is  not  the  least  interesting  testimony  to  the  latter's  ver- 
satile culture.  Spenser  subsequently  recalled 

Remembrance  of  that  most  heroic  spirit 
Who  first  my  muse  did  lift  out  of  the  floor 
To  sing  his  sweet  delights  in  lowly  lays. 

Among  the  complimentary  verses  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  of  the 
'Faerie  Queen'  in  1590  were  some  by  'W.  L.,'  which  reiterate 
Sidney's  abiding  influence  on  Spenser's  literary  development. 
At  the  end  of  1579  Spenser  dedicated  to  Sidney,  whom  he  de- 
scribed as  'the  president  of  nobless  and  of  chivalry,'  his  'Shep- 
herd's Calendar;'  and  the  editor  of  the  volume,  Edward  Kirke 
[q.  v.],  wrote  of  Sidney  as  'a  special  favourer  and  maintainer  of 
all  kinds  of  learning.'  With  a  view  to  converting  Sidney  and  his 
friends  to  his  own  theories  of  the  need  of  naturalising  the  classical 
metres  in  English  verse,  Harvey  persuaded  them  to  form  a  literary 
society  which  they  called  the  Areopagus,  and  they  seem  to  have 
often  met  in  London  during  1579  to  engage  in  formal  literary 
debate.  Under  these  influences  Sidney  attempted  many  sapphics 
and  hexameters  in  English,  some  of  which  he  incorporated  in  the 
'Arcadia.'  He  commemorated  such  intercourse  with  literary 
friends  in  a  poem  'upon  his  meeting  with  his  two  worthy  friends 
and  fellow-poets,'  Dyer  and  Greville  (DAVISON'S  Poetical  Rhap- 
sody, ed.  Bullen,  i.  32). 

The  drama  also  attracted  Sidney,  and  he  interested  himself  in  the 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  383 

welfare  of  his  uncle  Leicester's  company  of  players.  In  1582  he 
stood  godfather  to  the  son  of  Richard  Tarleton,  who  was  a  member 
of  the  company.  When,  in  1579,  Stephen  Gosson  [q.  v.]  without 
authority  dedicated  to  him  his  denunciation  of  playhouses,  which 
he  entitled  '  The  Schoole  of  Abuse,'  Sidney  circulated  an  en- 
lightened defence  of  the  drama  in  his  'Apologie  for  Poetrie.' 
To  him,  as  the  avowed  champion  of  the  stage,  Thomas  Lodge 
subsequently  dedicated  his  'Alarum  against  Usurers  '  (1584). 

Meanwhile  in  the  summer  of  1578  Sidney  received  some  small 
office  about  the  court,  and  at  Christmas  welcomed  his  friend 
Languet,  who  accompanied  Prince  John  Casimir  on  a  visit  to 
Elizabeth.  Languet  reproached  Sidney  with  inhaling  too  freely 
the  somewhat  enervating  atmosphere  of  the  court.  But  Sidney's 
independence  of  character  unfitted  him  for  the  permanent  role 
of  courtier.  During  the  summer  of  1579  he  was  often  absent  while 
superintending  on  behalf  of  his  father  the  enlargement  of  Pens- 
hurst,  and  in  August  he  experienced  the  fickleness  of  the  favour 
of  the  queen,  who  extended  to  him  the  anger  with  which  she  re- 
ceived the  news  of  Leicester's  secret  marriage  with  the  Countess 
of  Essex.  In  September  Sidney  was  forced  into  a  personal  quarrel 
which  gave  him  a  further  distaste  for  court  life.  While  he  was 
playing  tennis  at  Whitehall,  the  Earl  of  Oxford  came  in  uninvited 
and  joined  in  the  game.  Sidney  politely  raised  objections.  The 
earl  bade  all  the  players  leave  the  court,  and  when  Sidney  protested 
the  earl  called  him  a  puppy.  Sidney  gave  him  the  lie  direct. 
'Puppies,'  he  quietly  retorted,  'are  gotten  by  dogs,  and  children 
by  men.'  But  the  earl  ignored  the  insult,  and  it  was  left  to  Sidney 
to  send  him  a  challenge.  The  dispute  reached  the  queen's  ears, 
and  she  forbade  a  duel ;  but  Sidney  declined  to  act  upon  the  queen's 
suggestion  that  he  owed  the  earl  an  apology  on  the  ground  of  his 
superior  rank.  Early  in  January  1580  he  incurred  the  queen's 
wrath  anew.  He  sent  her  an  elaborate  treatise  condemning  her 
proposed  marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  It  was  a  vehemently 
worded  appeal  to  the  queen's  patriotism  and  protestant  zeal 
(Sydney  Papers,  i.  287-92).  For  some  months  Sidney  was  excluded 
from  her  presence.  Retiring  to  Wilton,  or,  according  to  Aubrey, 
to  the  neighbouring  village  of  Ivychurch,  he  engaged  with  his 
sister  in  literary  work.  Jointly  they  versified  the  psalms,  and  for 


384  SIDNEY  LEE 

her  amusement  he  wrote  his  'Arcadia,'  a  romance  in  prose  with 
interludes  of  verse.  To  the  same  period  may  doubtless  be  referred 
his  poem  in  'dispraise  of  a  courtly  life'  (DAVISON,  Poetical 
Rhapsody,  ed.  Bullen,  i.  34). 

On  18  Oct.  1580  Sidney  was  at  Leicester  House,  and  thence 
addressed  to  his  younger  brother  Robert,  who  was  travelling 
abroad,  an  elaborate  letter  of  counsel,  in  which  he  sketched  a 
sensible  method  of  studying  history  (Sydney  Papers,  i.  283-5; 
reprinted  in  Profitable  Instructions  for  Travellers,  1633).  At  the 
end  of  October  Sidney  had  returned  to  court,  apparently  after 
promising  to  abstain  from  protests  against  the  French  marriage. 
Money  was  still  scarce  with  him,  and,  with  a  view  to  increasing 
his  narrow  resources,  his  uncle  Leicester  procured  for  him  at  the 
end  of  1580  the  stewardship  to  the  bishopric  of  Winchester.  Sub- 
sequently he  begged  Lord  Burghley  to  induce  the  queen  to  grant 
him  ioo/.  a  year  out  of  property  seized  from  the  papists  (10  Oct. 
1581).  He  was  able  on  new  year's  day  1581  to  present  the  queen 
with  a  gold-headed  whip,  a  chain  of  gold,  and  a  heart  of  gold. 
On  1 6  Jan.  he  was  returned  at  a  by-election,  in  place  of  his  father, 
to  Queen  Elizabeth's  fourth  parliament  as  M.  P.  for  Kent,  but  the 
only  part  he  is  known  to  have  taken  at  the  time  in  the  proceedings 
of  the  House  of  Commons  was  as  a  member  of  the  committee  which 
recommended  stringent  measures  against  catholics  and  slanderers 
of  the  queen.  On  3  May  1581  Don  Antonio,  the  claimant  to  the 
throne  of  Portugal,  addressed  to  his  'illustrious  nephew  Philip 
Sidney '  an  appeal  for  help  in  his  hopeless  struggle  with  Philip  II 
of  Spain  (Sydney  Papers,  i.  294).  On  Whit  Monday  and  Whit 
Tuesday,  15  and  16  May,  Sidney  distinguished  himself  as  a  chief 
performer  in  an  elaborate  tournament  which  was  held  at  White- 
hall in  honour  of  an  embassy  from  France.  He  was  at  Wilton  at 
Christmas  1581  while  the  Duke  of  Anjou  was  on  a  visit  to  Eliza- 
beth in  London.  But  in  February  1582,  with  his  uncle  and  other 
courtiers,  he  escorted  the  duke  on  leaving  London  to  Antwerp, 
where  he  mourned  anew  the  death  of  his  old  friend  Languet,  who 
had  died  in  that  city  on  30  Sept.  1581. 

In  August  1582,  when  Sir  Henry  was  invited  to  resume  the  office 
of  lord  deputy  of  Ireland,  he  assented  to  the  proposal  on  the  con- 
dition that  Philip  accompanied  him,  but  the  proposal  was  not 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  385 

seriously  entertained.  At  the  time  Philip  was  in  Wales.  Later  in 
the  year  he  wrote  from  Wilton  to  ask  his  uncle  Leicester's  per- 
mission to  stay  there  over  Christmas.  On  13  Jan.  1583  he  was 
knighted,  but  the  honour  was  not  conferred  on  him  in  recognition 
of  his  personal  merits.  Prince  John  Casimir  had  chosen  Sidney 
to  represent  him  at  his  installation  by  proxy  as  knight  of  the  Garter, 
and  etiquette  prescribed  that  a  knight  of  the  Garter's  proxy  must 
not  be  of  lower  rank  than  a  knight-bachelor.  \  He  was  still  in  need 
of  a  settled  appointment  and  a  settled  income ;  and  soon  afterwards 
it  was  agreed  to  associate  Sidney  with  his  uncle  Warwick  in  the 
mastership  of  the  ordnance.  Thenceforth  he  frequently  assisted 
his  uncle,  but  the  letters  patent  formally  appointing  him  joint- 
master  of  the  ordnance  with  Warwick  were  not  issued,  owing  to 
the  queen's  vacillation,  till  21  July  1585.  In  1583,  too,  he  was  an 
unsuccessful  candidate  for  the  office  of  captain  of  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
but  military  dignity  was  during  the  year  bestowed  on  him  by  his 
nomination  as  ' general  of  horse;'  and  he  was  granted  some  por- 
tion of  the  fines  paid  by  clerical  recusants. 

The  need  of  money  was  the  more  pressing  in  that  Walsingham 
had  proposed  to  Sir  Henry  Sidney  early  in  1583  that  Philip  should 
marry  his  daughter  Frances.  Sir  Henry  highly  approved  the 
proposal,  but  deplored  his  'present  biting  necessity,'  which  would 
not  allow  him  to  make  any  satisfactory  pecuniary  settlement. 
Of  Philip's  devotion  to  the  girl,  who  was  only  fourteen,  the  parents 
of  both  felt  assured.  Lady  Penelope  Devereux  had  married  Lord 
Rich  in  1581.  Philip  had  never  ceased  writing  sonnets  to  her, 
and  those  that  seem  assignable  to  the  period  when  his  own  mar- 
riage was  under  consideration  are  more  passionate,  if  more  des- 
perate, in  tone  than  before.  It  is  therefore  improbable  that  the 
match  with  Walsingham's  daughter  was  of  his  own  making. 
Nevertheless,  he  readily  acceded  to  the  wishes  of  his  own  and  of 
the  lady's  parents.  The  queen  at  first  refused  to  countenance  the 
engagement,  but  after  two  months'  debate  with  Walsingham  she 
'passed  over  the  offence,'  and  the  courtship  proceeded  without 
hindrance.  The  marriage  was  celebrated  on  20  Sept.  1583,  and 
the  young  couple  took  up  their  residence  with  the  bride's  parents, 
who  divided  their  time  between  Walsingham  House  in  London 
and  the  manor-house  at  Barn  Elms,  Surrey.  Sidney's  relations 

2C 


386  SIDNEY  LEE 

with  Lady  Rich  were  not  apparently  interrupted,  but  he  stirred 
in  his  wife  a  genuine  affection,  and  the  union  contributed  to  their 
mutual  happiness. 

Routine  duties  at  court  or  in  the  department  of  the  ordnance 
combined  with  literary  study  to  occupy  Sidney  during  the  first 
months  of  his  married  life.  Early  in  1584  he  frequently  met,  at 
the  house  of  Fulke  Greville,  Giordano  Bruno,  the  Italian  phi- 
losopher, who  had  arrived  in  England  on  a  visit  to  the  French  am- 
bassador, M.  Castelnau  de  Mauvissiere.  Sidney's  fame  had 
reached  Bruno  at  Milan  as  early  as  1579.  At  Greville's  house 
they  discussed  together  'moral,  metaphysical,  mathematical, 
and  natural  speculations.'  On  13  Feb.  1584  the  Italian  stated 
to  his  English  friends  'the  reasons  of  his  belief  that  the  earth 
moves.'  Bruno  dedicated  two  books  to  Sidney,  'Spaccio  de  la 
BestiaTrionfante'  (1584),  and  the  poetic  'Degli  Heroici  Furori' 
(1585).  But  Sidney  evinced  little  sympathy  with  Bruno's 
scepticism  in  matters  of  religion.  At  the  same  time  as  he  was 
debating  science  and  philosophy  with  him,  he  was  translating 
from  the  French  of  his  protestant  friend,  Philip  du  Plessis  Mornay, 
'a  work  concerning  the  trueness  of  the  Christian  religion.'  In 
October  1584  he  went  to  Wilton  to  stand  godfather  to  Philip,  his 
sister's  second  son,  and  before  the  year  was  at  an  end  he  wrote  a 
spirited  defence  of  his  uncle  Leicester  against  the  savage  libel  that 
was  popularly  known  as  'Leicester's  Commonwealth.'  Sidney, 
who  at  the  close  of  his  tract  dared  the  anonymous  libeller  to  defend 
his  allegations  with  the  sword,  apparently  wrote  with  a  view  to 
publication,  but  the  tract  remained  in  manuscript  until  it  was 
printed  in  Collins's  'Sydney  Papers'  in  1746  (i.  62-8). 

But  Sidney's  marriage  did  not  abate  his  anxiety  for  more  active 
employment.  Despairing  of  the  queen's  intervention  in  the  affairs 
of  the  Low  Countries,  he  contemplated  taking  some  part  in  the 
colonisation  of  North  America.  Philip  had  long  shown  much 
interest  in  the  enterprise.  When,  in  June  1575,  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick, his  uncle,  was  fitting  out  Martin  Frobisher's  expedition 
in  search  of  the  North- West  Passage,  Philip  took  up  at  first  a  2$l. 
share,  and  afterwards  a  5o/.  share.  In  his  correspondence  with 
Languet  he  described  Frobisher's  adventures  with  enthusiasm, 
and  he  estimated  at  a  recklessly  high  rate  the  value  of  the  metal 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  387 

Frobisher  brought  back  from  Meta  Incognita.  In  1582  his  old 
college  friend,  Richard  Hakluyt,  dedicated  to  him  the  first  edition 
of  his  'Voyages.'  In  1583  Philip  wrote  to  his  friend,  Sir  Edward 
Stafford  [q.  v.],  that  he  was  half  persuaded  to  join  in  the  expedition 
to  Newfoundland,  under  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  which  ended  in 
disaster.  Meanwhile  letters  patent  were  issued  to  him  authorising 
him  to  discover  new  land  in  America,  and  to  hold  for  ever  'such 
and  so  much  quantity  of  ground  as  should  amount  to  the  number 
of  thirty  hundred  thousand  acres.'  He  does  not  seem  to  have 
intended  to  personally  conduct  the  expedition,  and  in  July  1583 
made  over  to  Sir  George  Peckham  the  right  to  thirty  thousand  of 
the  three  million  acres  assigned  to  him.  Through  1584  Sidney 
watched  with  interest  Ralegh's  designs  on  America,  and  in  De- 
cember, after  he  had  been  re-elected  to  serve  as  M.P.  for  Kent, 
he  sat  on  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  which  defined 
the  boundaries  of  the  projected  colony  of  Virginia.  He  recom- 
mended in  February  1585  the  appointment  of  Ralph  Lane  as  the 
first  governor,  and  some  of  the  letters  which  Lane  wrote  to  Sidney 
the  former  incorporated  in  his  account  of  Virginia. 

In  the  autumn  of  1 584  the  queen  chose  Sidney  to  carry  her  con- 
dolences to  Henri  III  of  France  on  the  death  of  his  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Anjou.  The  duty  could  hardly  have  been  congenial, 
and  before  Sidney  started  the  news  of  the  murder  of  his  friend  and 
admirer,  William  of  Orange,  seemed  to  jeopardise  the  position  of 
protestantism  throughout  Europe.  Sidney  received  instructions 
to  sound  the  French  king  as  to  his  willingness  to  oppose  the  prog- 
ress of  the  Spaniards  in  the  Low  Countries.  But  the  embassy 
proved  of  no  effect.  The  French  king  was  at  Lyons  when  Sidney 
reached  Paris,  and  he  sent  him  word  that  he  would  not  return  for 
two  months.  Sidney  therefore  came  home,  more  firmly  con- 
vinced than  before  of  the  duty  of  England  actively  to  resist  the 
aggressions  of  Spain.  With  masterly  insight  into  the  situation,  he 
argued  that  Spain  should  be  challenged  in  her  own  citadels;  and 
that  her  advance  in  Flanders,  where  her  armies  were  admirably 
equipped  to  meet  her  enemies,  should  be  checked  by  raids  of  Eng- 
lish ships  on  seaports  of  the  Spanish  peninsula,  and  on  her  trade 
with  South  America.  But  the  queen  hesitated,  and  Sidney  con- 
centrated all  his  energy  on  endeavours  to  overcome  her  indifference. 


388  SIDNEY  LEE 

During  the  winter  of  1584-5  he  regularly  attended  the  debates  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  vehemently  supported  the  proposed 
penal  legislation  against  the  Jesuits.  Outside  parliament  he  inter- 
vened in  the  pending  negotiations  with  James  VI  of  Scotland,  and 
used  all  his  influence  to  detach  that  monarch  from  the  cause  of  his 
catholic  mother  and  from  alliance  with  Spain.  He  was  in  repeated 
communication  with  the  Scottish  envoy  in  London,  the  Master 
of  Gray,  who  was  attracted  by  his  personal  charm,  and  appeared 
to  follow  his  advice.  Sidney  did  not  detect  the  double  game  which 
the  astute  ambassador  was  playing. 

At  length,  in  June  1585,  the  queen  agreed  to  send  an  army  to 
the  Low  Countries  to  support  the  cause  of  the  protestants.  Sidney 
was  still  convinced  that  a  direct  attack  on  Spain  was  the  wiser 
course.  But,  wherever  the  blow  was  to  be  struck,  he  was  anxious 
to  lend  a  hand.  There  seemed  much  doubt  whether  any  command 
would  be  offered  him  in  the  Low  Countries,  and,  holding  aloof 
from  the  discussions  which  the  queen's  change  of  policy  excited 
in  court  circles,  he  actively  interested  himself  during  the  summer  in 
the  great  expedition  to  the  Spanish  coast  which  Drake  was  fitting 
out  at  Plymouth.  He  knew  well  that  he  could  not  obtain  the 
queen's  assent  to  take  part  in  that  enterprise,  but  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  join  it  without  inviting  the  royal  permission.  In  August 
he  hurried  secretly  to  Plymouth,  whence  Drake's  fleet  was  ready 
to  set  sail.  But  Drake  understood  the  situation,  and  declined 
to  risk  the  queen's  anger.  He  informed  the  court  of  Sidney's 
plans,  and  the  queen's  imperious  summons  to  Sidney  to  present 
himself  at  court  proved  irresistible.  On  2 1  Sept.  he  made  his  peace 
with  the  queen  at  Nonsuch,  and  on  7  Nov.  she  signed  at  West- 
minster a  patent  appointing  him  governor  of  Flushing,  one  of  the 
towns  which  the  States-General  had  surrendered  to  her  as  security 
for  the  aid  she  was  rendering  them.  At  the  same  time  Leicester 
was  nominated  commander-in-chief  of  the  queen's  forces  in  the 
Low  Countries. 

On  1 6  Nov.  Sidney  left  Gravesend  to  take  up  his  command  at 
Flushing,  where  he  arrived  two  days  later.  He  found  the  garrison 
weak  and  dispirited,  and  set  about  strengthening  the  defences. 
On  10  Dec.  Leicester  joined  him,  and  passed  on  to  the  Hague 
amid  much  popular  rejoicing.  The  Spaniards,  who  had  held 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  389 

Antwerp  since  17  Aug.,  were  in  formidable  strength,  and  Sidney 
soon  realised  the  difficulties  of  the  position  of  himself  and  his 
fellow-countrymen.  Supplies  were  slow  in  coming  from  England. 
The  Dutch  allies  were  listless  or  suspicious,  and  Leicester  was  soon 
involved  in  a  quarrel  with  the  queen,  in  which  he  had  Sidney's 
full  sympathy.  But  Sidney  did  what  he  could  to  prevent  the  dis- 
pute from  wholly  diverting  Leicester's  attention  from  the  perils 
of  the  immediate  situation.  Repeatedly  did  he  hurry  to  the  Hague 
to  urge  on  his  uncle  and  on  the  Dutch  government  the  necessity, 
at  all  hazards,  of  immediate  and  resolute  action  in  the  field.  But 
disappointments  accumulated.  When,  in  February  1586,  Sidney 
was  appointed  by  Leicester  colonel  of  the  Zeeland  regiment  of 
horse,  a  rival  candidate,  Count  Hohenlohe,  protested  against  the 
promotion  of  a  foreigner,  and  the  queen  judged  the  count's  griev- 
ance just.  To  Lord  Burghley  and  to  his  father-in-law  Sidney  sent 
vehement  appeals  to  rouse  the  queen  to  a  fuller  sense  of  her 
responsibilities.  At  any  rate,  he  pointed  out,  it  was  a  point  of 
honour  for  her  to  equip  the  army  with  the  supplies  requisite  for 
the  work  that  awaited  it.  'I  understand  I  am  called  ambitious 
and  proud  at  home/  he  protested  to  Walsingham;  'but  certainly, 
if  they  knew  my  heart,  they  would  not  altogether  so  judge  me.' 
At  the  end  of  March  his  wife  joined  him  at  Flushing,  and  soon  after 
he  learnt  there  of  his  father's  death  on  6  May,  and  of  his  mother's 
death  on  1 1  Aug.  Leicester  did  not  encourage  him  to  take  service 
in  the  field.  Nevertheless,  on  6-7  July  Sidney,  with  his  friend 
Prince  Maurice,  effected  a  raid  on  Axel,  a  village  in  the  Spaniards' 
hands  only  twenty  miles  from  Flushing.  The  attack  was  made 
by  night  and  in  boats.  Sidney  showed  great  courage  and  alertness, 
and  the  garrison  surrendered  without  striking  a  blow.  After 
providing  for  the  government  of  the  town,  Sidney  joined  the  main 
body  of  the  army,  which  was  with  Leicester  at  Arnhem,  but  he 
was  soon  ordered  back  to  his  post  at  Flushing.  On  2  Sept.  he 
took  part  in  the  successful  assault  on  Doesburg,  a  weak  fortress 
near  Arnhem. 

A  few  days  later  Leicester  wisely  resolved  to  attack  the  strong- 
hold of  Zutphen.  On  13  Sept.  he  brought  his  army  within  sight 
of  the  town,  and  encamped  with  the  infantry  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  river  Yssel,  which  ran  beside  the  town,  leaving  the  cavalry 


390  SIDNEY  LEE 

on  the  right  bank,  near  the  village  of  Warnsfeld,  under  the  joint 
command  of  Count  Lewis  William  of  Nassau  and  Sir  John  Norris. 
Sidney  joined  the  latter  as  a  volunteer  and  knight-errant  (MOTLEY, 
ii.  46).  His  regiment  of  horse  was  at  Deventer,  whither  it  had  been 
sent  to  quell  an  anticipated  revolt.  On  the  2ist  news  arrived  that 
a  troop  of  Spaniards  convoying  provisions  was  to  arrive  at  Zutphen 
at  daybreak  next  morning.  Leicester  directed  Norris,  with  two 
hundred  horsemen,  and  Sir  William  Stanley,  with  three  hundred 
horsemen,  to  intercept  the  approaching  force.  Sidney  and  his 
brother  Robert  determined  on  their  own  initiative  to  join  in  the 
attack.  When  leaving  his  tent  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning 
of  Thursday  the  22nd,  Philip  met  Sir  William  Pelham,  who  had 
omitted  to  put  on  his  leg-armour.  Sidney,  rashly  disdaining  the 
advantage  of  better  equipment  than  a  friend,  quixotically  threw 
off  his  own  cuisses.  A  thick  fog  at  first  obscured  the  enemy's 
movements.  When  it  lifted,  the  little  force  of  five  hundred  English 
horsemen  found  itself  under  the  walls  of  Zutphen  and  in  face  of 
a  detachment  of  the  enemy's  cavalry  three  thousand  strong. 
The  English  charged  twice,  but  were  compelled  on  each  occasion 
to  retreat  after  hard  fighting.  During  the  second  charge  Sidney's 
horse  was  killed  under  him.  Mounting  another,  he  foolhardily 
thrust  his  way  through  the  enemy's  ranks,  and,  when  turning  to 
rejoin  his  friends,  he  was  struck  by  a  bullet  on  the  left  thigh,  a 
little  above  the  knee.  He  managed  to  keep  his  saddle  until  he 
reached  the  camp,  a  mile  and  a  half  distant.  There,  parched  with 
thirst,  he  called  for  drink.  A  bottle  of  water  was  brought,  but  as 
he  was  placing  it  to  his  lips,  a  grievously  wounded  foot  soldier 
was  borne  past  him  and  fixed  greedy  eyes  on  the  bottle.  Sidney 
at  once  handed  it  to  the  dying  man  with  the  famous  words,  '  Thy 
necessity  is  yet  greater  than  mine'  (GREVILLE,  p.  145;  cf.  MOTLEY, 
ii.  51  seq.,  where  the  dates,  given  in  the  new  style,  are  ten  days 
later). 

From  the  camp  Sidney  was  carried  in  Leicester's  barge  down 
the  Yssel  and  the  Rhine  to  Arnhem,  and  lodged  in  the  house  of 
a  lady  named  Gruithuissens.  His  wife,  although  far  advanced  in 
pregnancy,  hastened  from  Flushing  to  nurse  him,  and  his  brother 
Robert  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  sick-chamber.  The  wound 
failed  to  heal,  and  ultimately  mortified.  Sidney  at  the  outset 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  391 

trembled  at  the  approach  of  death,  but  the  consolations  of  religion 
restored  his  equanimity,  and  he  awaited  the  end  with  pathetic 
composure.  He  improvised  a  short  poem,  called  'La  Cuisse 
rompue,"  and  caused  it  to  be  set  to  music  and  sung  at  his  bedside. 
To  a  learned  friend,  Belarius,  he  wrote  a  Latin  letter,  a  copy  of 
which  was  forwarded  to  the  queen.  Both  poem  and  letter  are  lost. 
He  ordered  his  'Arcadia'  to  be  burned.  Finally  he  dictated  a 
will  in  which  he  showed  characteristic  consideration  for  his  friends 
and  dependents.  His  widow  was  nominated  sole  executrix.  A 
codicil,  dated  the  day  of  his  death,  made  some  trifling  changes  in 
the  smaller  legacies.  He  died  after  twenty-six  days'  suffering  on 
17  Oct.,  bidding  his  relatives  with  his  last  breath  love  his  memory 
and  cherish  his  friends  (GREVILLE,  p.  160). 

The  States-General  begged  the  honour  of  according  the  hero 
burial  within  their  own  dominions,  and  offered  to  spend  half  a  ton 
of  gold  on  a  memorial.  But  the  request  was  refused.  On  24  Oct. 
the  body,  after  being  embalmed,  was  removed  to  Flushing.  On 
i  Nov.  twelve  hundred  English  soldiers  and  a  great  concourse 
of  Dutch  burghers  escorted  the  coffin  to  Sidney's  own  vessel, 
The  Black  Pinnace,  which,  with  sails  of  black,  landed  its  burden 
at  Tower  Hill  on  5  Nov.  Thence  the  coffin  was  borne  to  a  house 
in  the  Minories  to  await  a  public  funeral.  But  three  months 
expired  before  the  interment.  The  delay  was  due  to  pecuniary 
difficulties.  The  creditors  of  Sidney  and  his  father  were  numerous 
and  importunate.  It  appeared  that  lands  assigned  by  Sidney's 
will  to  Walsingham  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  creditors  were  diffi- 
cult to  realise,  while  the  lawyers  raised  doubts  as  to  the  lawfulness 
of  the  disposition  of  his  property.  Walsingham  reluctantly  paid 
6,ooo/.  out  of  his  own  pocket,  and  then  appealed  for  help  to 
Leicester.  It  was  not  till  16  Feb.  that  Sidney's  friends  found 
themselves  in  a  position  to  face  the  heavy  expenses  of  the  public 
funeral  which  his  deserts  in  their  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  the 
nation  demanded. 

On  1 6  Feb.  1586-7  seven  hundred  mourners  of  all  classes  walked 
in  the  procession  to  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  At  its  head  marched 
thirty-two  poor  men  and  Sidney's  regiment  of  horse.  The  pall- 
bearers were  Fulke  Greville,  Edward  Wotton,  Edward  Dyer,  and 
Thomas  Dudley.  His  brother  Robert  was  chief  mourner.  Each 


392  SIDNEY  LEE 

of  the  seven  united  provinces  sent  a  representative.  The  cortege 
was  closed  by  the  lord-mayor  and  three  hundred  of  the  city  trained 
bands.  The  grave  was  under  the  lady-chapel  at  the  back  of  the 
high  altar.  In  1590  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  was  laid  in  the  same 
tomb,  which  was  destroyed  in  the  great  fire  of  1666. 

Thomas  Lant  [q.  v.]  published  thirty-four  engraved  copper- 
plates of  the  funeral  procession  and  ceremony,  with  a  description 
in  Latin  and  English.  It  was  entitled  'Sequitur  Celebritas  et 
Pompa  Funeris'  (London,  1587,  oblong  folio). 

By  the  terms  of  his  will,  Sidney's  father-in-law  Walsingham 
and  his  brother  Robert  had  authority  to  defray  his  own  and  his 
father's  debts  from  the  sale  of  his  lands  in  Lincolnshire,  Sussex, 
and  Hampshire.  His  wife  he  left  for  life  half  the  income  of  his 
various  properties.  His  daughter  Frances  received  a  marriage 
portion  of  4,ooo/.,  and  his  younger  brother  Thomas  lands  to  the 
value  of  ioo/.  a  year.  To  his  sister,  the  Countess  of  Pembroke, 
he  left  'his  best  Jewell  beset  with  diamonds;'  to  his  friends 
Edward  Dyer  and  Fulke  Greville  he  bequeathed  his  books. 
Surgeons  and  divines  who  attended  his  deathbed,  and  all  his  ser- 
vants at  home,  from  his  steward  Griffith  Madox,  who  received  an 
annuity  of  4o/.,  downwards,  were  substantial  legatees.  The  re- 
sidue of  his  estate  passed  to  his  brother  Robert  (cf .  Sydney  Papers, 
\.  109-13).  Sir  Philip's  widow,  who,  at  great  risk  to  her  life, 
was  delivered  of  a  still-born  child  in  December  1586,  proved  the 
will  on  19  June  1589.  Next  year  she  married  Robert  Devereux, 
second  earl  of  Essex  [q.  v.],  and,  after  his  death  in  1601,  Richard  de 
Burgh,  earl  of  Clanricarde.  She  died  before  1635.  By  her  Sidney 
was  the  father  of  a  daughter,  Frances,  on  whose  birth,  on  31  Jan. 
1583-4,  Scipio  Gentili,  the  civilian,  wrote  a  Latin  poem  entitled 
'Nereus'  (London,  1585,  4to);  Queen  Elizabeth  was  her  god- 
mother; she  married  Roger  Manners,  earl  of  Rutland  [q.  v.], 
and  died  without  issue  in  August  1612.  Jonson  describes  her  as 
'nothing  inferior  to  her  father  in  poesie'  (Conversations,  p.  16). 

The  grief  which  Sidney's  death  evoked  has  been  rarely  paral- 
leled. It  was  accounted  a  sin  for  months  afterwards  for  any 
gentleman  of  quality  to  wear  gay  apparel  in  London.  From  all 
classes  came  expressions  of  dismay.  The  queen  was  overwhelmed 
with  sorrow,  although  she  afterwards  complained  that  Sidney 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  393 

invited  death  by  his  rashness  (NAUNTON,  p.  19).  'What  perfec- 
tion he  was  born  unto,  and  how  able  he  was  to  serve  her  majesty 
and  his  country,  all  men  here  almost  wonder,'  wrote  his  uncle 
Leicester  to  Walsingham  from  the  Hague  eight  days  after  his 
death.  The  sentiment  was  repeated  in  every  variety  of  phrase. 
'This  is  that  Sidney,'  wrote  Camden,  'who  as  Providence  seems 
to  have  sent  him  into  the  world  to  give  the  present  a  specimen 
of  the  ancients,  so  it  did  on  a  sudden  recall  him  and  snatch  him 
from  us  as  more  worthy  of  heaven  than  of  earth.'  Thomas  Nash, 
in  his  'Piers  Penilesse,'  apostrophised  Sidney  in  the  words  'Well 
couldst  thou  give  every  virtue  his  encouragement,  every  wit  his 
due,  every  writer  his  desert,  'cause  none  more  virtuous,  witty,  or 
learned  than  thyself.'  Both  the  universities  published  collections 
of  elegies.  At  Cambridge  the  volume  which  was  edited  by  Alex- 
ander Neville  (1544-1614)  [q.  v.]  was  dedicated  to  Leicester,  and 
included  a  sonnet  in  English  by  James  VI  of  Scotland,  with  Latin 
translations  of  it  by  the  king,  by  Patrick,  lord  Gray,  Sir  John 
Maitland,  Alexander  Seton,  and  by  James  Halkerston,  who  con- 
tributed two  version's.  At  Oxford  two  volumes  appeared,  one 
edited  by  William  Gager  and  entitled  'Exequiae  |  Illustrissimi 
Equitis  D.  Philip-  |  Pi  Sidnaei,  Gratissi-  |  mae  Memoriae  Ac  No- 
Mini  Impensae,'  with  a  dedication  to  Leicester;  the  other,  edited 
by  John  Lhuyd  and  dedicated  to  Sidney's  brother-in-law,  the  Earl 
of  Pembroke,  under  the  title  'Peplos  |  Illustrissimi  |  viri  D.  Phi- 
lippi  |  Sidnaei  Supre-  |  Mis  Honoribus  Dictatus  |  .'  The  chief 
contributors  to  the  latter  were  members  of  New  College. 

The  most  interesting  of  the  poetic  memorials,  which  numbered 
fully  two  hundred,  is  the  collection  of  eight  elegies  which  was 
appended  in  1595  to  Spenser's  'Colin  Clouts  come  Home  again.' 
The  opening  poem,  entitled  'Astrophel:  a  Pastorall  Elegie,'  after 
which  the  collection  is  usually  named,  was  by  Spenser  himself, 
and  was  dedicated  to  Sidney's  widow,  who  had  then  become  the 
Earl  of  Essex's  wife.  Sidney's  sister,  the  Countess  of  Pembroke, 
Lodowick  Bryskett,  Matthew  Roydon,  and  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  are 
among  the  contributors  to  the  collection.  Other  poetical  tributes 
of  literary  or  bibliographical  interest  were  issued  in  separate  vol- 
umes by  Sir  William  Herbert  (d.  1593)  [q.  v.]  in  1586;  by  George 
Whetstone  [q.  v.]  in  1586;  by  John  Philip  (ft.  1566)  [q.  v.]  in  1587, 


394  SIDNEY  LEE 

dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  Essex;  by  Angel  Day  [q.  v.]  in  1587; 
and  by  Thomas  Churchyard  [q.  v.],  dedicated  to  Lady  Sidney 
(n.  d.).  Funeral  songs  with  music  appeared  in  William  Byrd's 
'Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs,'  1588,  while  five  pieces  on  the  same 
theme  by  the  mysterious  'A.  W.'  are  in  Davison's  'Poetical 
Rhapsody'  (ed.  Bullen,  i.  63-71,  ii.  90-3).  A  charming  elegy, 
'Amoris  Lachrymae,'  figures  in  Breton's  'Bowre  of  Delights ' 
(London,  R.  Johnes,  1591,  4to),  and  an  eclogue  on  Sidney  in 
Drayton's  'Eclogues'  (1593,  No.  4). 

Sidney's  force  of  patriotism  and  religious  fervour  were  accom- 
panied by  much  political  sagacity,  by  high  poetical  and  oratorical 
gifts,  and  by  unusual  skill  in  manly  sports.  Such  versatility,  allied 
to  a  naturally  chivalric,  if  somewhat  impetuous,  temperament, 
generated  a  rare  personal  fascination,  the  full  force  of  which  was 
brought  home  to  his  many  friends  by  his  pathetic  death,  from  a 
wound  received  in  battle,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-two.  His 
achievements,  when  viewed  in  detail,  may  hardly  seem  to  justify 
all  the  eulogies  in  verse  and  prose  which  his  contemporaries  be- 
stowed upon  his  brief  career ;  but  the  impression  that  it  left  in  its 
entirety  on  his  countrymen's  imagination  proved  ineffaceable. 
Shelley,  in  his  'Adonais,'  gave  expression  to  a  sentiment  still 
almost  universal  among  Englishmen  when  he  wrote  of 

Sidney  as  he  fought 

And  as  he  fell,  and  as  he  lived  and  loved, 
Sublimely  mild,  a  spirit  without  spot. 

Portraits  of  Sidney  are  very  numerous.  A  picture  containing  full- 
length  life-size  figures  of  Sir  Philip  and  his  younger  brother  Robert 
is  at  Penshurst.  There  also  is  the  familiar  and  often  engraved 
three-quarter  length,  life-size,  with  clean-shaven  face,  by  Zucchero, 
dated  1577,  when  Sidney  was  twenty-two.  The  miniature  by 
Isaac  Oliver,  in  which  Sidney  is  represented  reclining  under  a  tree 
and  wearing  a  tall  hat,  with  the  gardens  at  Wilton  in  the  back- 
ground, is  now  at  Windsor ;  it  was  finely  engraved  by  Vertue  for  the 
'Sydney  Papers,'  to  which  it  forms  the  frontispiece,  and  there  is  a 
good  photogravure  in  Jusserand's  'English  Novel'  (English 
transl.  1890).  Another  miniature  by  Oliver,  in  a  silver  filigree 
frame,  belongs  to  Sir  Charles  Dilke,  and  a  third  miniature  (anony- 
mous) is  at  Penshurst.  There  seems  nothing  to  confirm  the  con- 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  395 

jecture  that  the  last  reproduces  the  portrait,  apparently  lost,  which 
was  painted  for  Sidney's  friend  Languet  by  Paolo  Veronese  at 
Venice  in  1574,  and  there  is  no  means  of  identifying  a  second  por- 
trait noticed  by  Languet  as  in  the  possession  of  one  Abondius  at 
Vienna  in  the  same  year  (cf .  Notes  and  Queries,  2nd  ser.  x.  308 ; 
Gent.  Mag.  1854,  ii.  152-3).  At  Woburn  a  portrait  doubtfully 
assigned  to  Sir  Antonio  More  is  on  fairly  good  grounds  identified 
with  Sidney;  it  has  been  engraved.  A  very  attractive  half-length 
portrait  (anonymous)  is  in  the  collection  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick. 
Another  portrait  attributed  to  Zucchero,  painted  after  Sidney's 
death,  belongs  to  the  Marquis  of  Lothian.  A  portrait  labelled 
'Sir  Philip  Sidney  who  writ  the  Arcadia'  belongs  to  the  Earl  of 
Darnley.  Another  is  at  Knole.  An  engraving  by  C.  Warren, 
from  a  portrait  at  Wentworth  Castle,  inaccurately  attributed  to 
Velasquez,  prefaces  Zouch's  ' Memoirs'  (1809);  Dr.  Waagen 
assigns  this  portrait  to  the  Netherlandish  school.  Dallaway 
(Anecdotes  of  Paintings)  mentions  a  portrait  by  J.  de  Critz. 
Among  numerous  engravings  may  be  mentioned  the  rare  copper- 
plates by  Renold  Elstracke  [q.  v.],  by  Thomas  Lant  [q.  v.]  (in 
the  account  of  Sidney's  funeral,  1587,  reproduced  in  'Astrophel 
and  Stella,'  ed.  Pollard),  and  by  Simon  Pass  [q.  v.]  in  Holland's 
'Herwologia.'  There  is  a  stained-glass  window  with  a  full- 
length  portrait  in  the  hall  of  the  university  of  Sydney,  New  South 
Wales. 

Sidney's  literary  work  has  done  much  to  keep  his  fame  alive. 
None  of  it  was  published  in  his  lifetime,  but  all  of  it  was  widely 
read  in  manuscript  copies,  and  the  reluctance  of  his  friends  to 
authorise  its  publication  led  to  the  issue  of  surreptitious  editions 
which  perplex  the  conscientious  bibliographer. 

In  1587  there  appeared  a  translation  from  the  French  prose  of 
Plessis  du  Mornay,  entitled  'A  Woorke  concerning  the  trewnesse 
of  the  Christian  Religion.'  This  was  begun  by  Sidney,  but  was 
completed  and  published  by  Arthur  Golding  [q.  v.].  It  was  at 
once  popular,  and  reissues  are  dated  1587,  1592,  1604,  and  1617. 

The  'Arcadia,'  begun  in  1580  and  probably  completed  before 
his  marriage  in  1583,  was  the  earliest  of  Sidney's  purely  literary 
compositions  to  be  printed.  Within  a  few  months  of  its  author's 
death  Greville  wrote  to  Walsingham  that  the  publisher,  William 


396  SIDNEY  LEE 

Ponsonby,  had  told  him  of  a  forthcoming  edition,  of  which  Sidney's 
friends  knew  nothing.  Greville  suggested  that  'more  delibera- 
tion' was  required  before  Sidney's  books  should  be  given  to  the 
world  (cf .  State  Papers,  Dom.  Eliz.  cxcv.  No.  43 ;  ARBER,  Garner, 
i.  488-9).  On  23  Sept.  1588,  however,  Ponsonby  obtained  a 
license  for  the  publication  of  the  'Arcadia.'  In  1589  Puttenham, 
in  his  'Art  of  English  Poesie,'  wrote:  'Sir  Philip  Sidney  in  the 
description  of  his  mistresse  excellently  well  handled  this  figure  of 
resemblaunce  by  imagerie,  as  ye  may  see  in  his  booke  of  Archadia.' 
But  the  romance  was  not  published  till  1590,  when  Ponsonby  issued 
in  quarto  'The  Covntesse  of  Pembroke's  Arcadia,  written  by  Sir 
Philippe  Sidnei'  (copies  are  at  the  British  Museum,  and  in  the 
Huth,  Britwell,  and  Rowfant  Libraries).  The  'overseer'  (i.e 
printer's  reader)  admitted  his  own  responsibility  for  the  division 
of  the  work  into  chapters,  and  for  the  distribution  through  the 
prose  text  of  the  poetical  eclogues.  The  whole  was  divided  into 
three  books.  Another  edition,  'now  since  the  first  edition  aug- 
mented and  ended,'  was  issued  by  Ponsonby  in  1593  in  folio 
(a  unique  copy  is  at  Britwell).  In  an  address  to  the  reader  H.  S. 
(possibly  Henry  Salisbury  [q.  v.])  stated  that  the  work  had  been 
revised  and  supplemented  from  Sidney's  manuscripts  by  his  sister, 
the  Countess  of  Pembroke.  She  now  divided  the  work  into  five 
books  instead  of  three,  while  changes  were  made  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  poems  and  many  new  ones  supplied.  An  edition, 
'now  the  third  time  published,  with  sundry  new  additions  of  the 
same  author'  (London,  1598,  fol.),  also  undertaken  by  Ponsonby 
under  Lady  Pembroke's  direction,  contained  the  previously  pub- 
lished 'Apologie  for  Poetrie'  and  'Astrophel  and  Stella,'  with 
some  hitherto  unprinted  poems  and  the  masque  of  the  'Lady  of 
May.'  This  is  the  definitive  edition  of  Sidney's  works,  and  it  was 
constantly  reissued.  Robert  Waldegrave  printed  an  edition  at 
Edinburgh  in  1599,  copies  of  which  were  unlawfully  imported  into 
England.  Later  folio  issues  of  bibliographical  interest  were  dated 
1605  (by  Matthew  Lownes),  1613  (for  Simon  Waterson,  with  a 
new  'dialogue  betweene  two  shepherds  ...  at  Wilton'),  1621 
(Dublin,  printed  by  the  Societie  of  Stationers,  with  the  supplement 
to  the  third  book  of  the  'Arcadia'  by  Sir  William  Alexander, 
originally  published  separately),  1623  (London,  with  Alexander's 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  397 

supplement),  1627  (with  Beling's  sixth  book,  separately  title- 
paged).  Other  reissues  appeared  in  1629,  1633,  1638  (with  a 
second  supplement  to  the  third  book  by  Ja.  Johnstoun),  1655 
(with  memoir  and  'a  remedie  of  love'),  1662,  and  1674.  A 
reprint  of  1725  of  Sidney's  'works  ...  in  prose  and  verse,'  in 
3  vols.  8vo,  was  described  as  the  fourteenth  edition,  and  a  modern- 
ised version  of  the  'Arcadia'  by  Mrs.  Stanley  was  issued  in  the 
same  year.  No  other  reprint  was  attempted  till  1867,  when 
J.  Hain  Friswell  edited  an  abridgement.  A  facsimile  reprint 
of  the  quarto  of  1590,  with  bibliographical  introduction  by  Dr. 
Oskar  Sommer,  appeared  in  1891. 

The  'Arcadia'  was  written  by  Sidney  for  the  amusement  of 
his  sister,  the  Countess  of  Pembroke.  It  was  'done,'  he  wrote, 
'in  loose  sheets  of  paper,  most  of  it  in  his  sister's  presence,  the  rest 
by  sheets  sent  unto  her  as  fast  as  they  were  done.'  The  work 
bears  traces  of  this  method  of  composition.  It  relates  in  rambling 
fashion  the  stirring  adventures  of  two  princes,  Musidorus  of 
Thessaly  and  Pyrocles  of  Macedon,  who,  in  the  face  of  many 
dangers  and  difficulties,  sue  for  the  hands  of  the  princesses  Pamela 
and  Philoclea,  daughters  of  Basilius,  king  of  Arcady,  and  of  his 
lascivious  queen  Gynecia.  Numerous  digressions  divert  the 
reader's  attention  from  the  chief  theme.  Battles  and  tournaments 
fill  a  large  space  of  the  canvas,  and  they  are  portrayed  with  all  the 
sympathy  of  a  knight-errant.  But  the  chivalric  elements  are 
balanced  by  the  complications  incident  to  romance,  in  which  the 
men  often  disguise  themselves  as  women  and  the  women  as  men, 
and  by  pastoral  eclogues  mainly  in  verse,  in  which  rustic  life  and 
feeling  are  contrasted  with  those  of  courts.  In  the  long  speeches 
which  are  placed  in  the  mouths  of  all  the  leading  actors,  much 
sagacious  philosophic  or  ethical  reflection  is  set  before  the  reader, 
and  there  are  some  attractive  descriptions  of  natural  scenery. 

The  work,  in  which  the  tumult  of  a  mediaeval  chivalric  romance 
thus  alternates  with  the  placid  strains  of  pastoral  poetry,  is  an  out- 
come of  much  reading  of  foreign  literature.  The  title  of  the  whole 
id  most  of  the  pastoral  episodes  were  drawn  from  the  'Arcadia' 

)f  the  Neapolitan,  Jacopo  Sanazaro,  which  was  first  published  at 
Milan  in  1504  (French  translation,  1544).  But  Sidney  stood  more 

lirectly  indebted  to  Spanish  romance  —  to  the  chivalric  tales  of 


398  SIDNEY  LEE 

'Amadis'  and  'Palmerin,'  and  above  all  to  the  'Diana  Enamo- 
rada,'  by  George  Montemayor  (itself  an  imitation  of  Sanazaro's 
'Arcadia'),  which  was  first  published  in  1542,  and  first  translated 
into  English  by  Bartholomew  Yong  in  1598.  From  'Diana' 
Sidney  avowedly  translated  two  songs  that  figure  in  the  'certain 
sonnets'  appended  to  the  'Arcadia.'  Signs  are  not  wanting,  too, 
that  Sidney  had  studied  the  '^Ethiopica'  of  Heliodorus,  of  which 
Thomas  Underdown  [q.  v.]  published  a  translation  in  1587. 
Sidney,  in  his  'Apologie  for  Poetrie'  (ed.  Shuckburgh,  p.  12), 
made  appreciative  reference  to  Heliodorus's  'sugred  invention  of 
that  picture  of  love  in  his  Theagines  and  Cariclea.'  Possibly, 
too,  apart  of  Sidney's  scheme  was  due  to  Lyly's  'Euphues,'  which 
was  published  a  year  before  the  'Arcadia'  was  begun. 

Both  in  his  'Apologie'  and  in  his  'Sonnets'  (No.  iii.),  Sidney 
condemned  the  conceits  of  the  euphuists  who  'rifled  up'  stories  of 
beasts,  fowls,  and  fishes  on  which  to  nurture  conceits,  and  Drayton 
(in  Of  Poets  and  Poesy)  claimed  for  'noble'  Sidney  that  he  made 
a  successful  stand  against  the  tyranny  of  Lyly's  '  Euphues : ' 

[And]  throughly  paced  our  language,  as  to  show 
The  plenteous  English  hand  in  hand  might  go 
With  Greek  and  Latin,  and  did  first  reduce 
Our  tongue  from  Lilly's  writing  then  in  use. 

But  the  prose  of  the  'Arcadia'  is  diffuse  and  artificial,  and 
abounds  in  tricks  as  indefensible  and  irritating  as  any  sanctioned 
by  Lyly.  Sidney  overloads  his  sentences  with  long  series  of  weak 
epithets,  while  he  abounds  in  far-fetched  metaphors.  Oases  of 
direct  narrative  exist,  but  they  are  rare.  Mr.  George  Macdonald, 
in  his  'Cabinet  of  Gems'  (1892),  has,  however,  shown  that,  by 
gentle  pruning,  short  extracts  from  the  'Arcadia'  can  assume 
graces  of  simplicity  which  are  only  occasionally  recognisable  in  the 
work  in  its  original  shape.  In  the  verse  in  the  'Arcadia'  Sidney 
not  only  experimented  in  English  with  classical  metres,  but  with 
the  terza  rima,  sestina,  and  canzonet  of  modern  Italy. 

But  defects  of  theme  and  style  passed  unrecognised  in  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries.  The  book  at  once  established  it- 
self in  popular  esteem,  and  for  more  than  a  hundred  years  enjoyed 
an  undisputed  vogue.  In  Holinshed's  'Chronicle,' while  Sidney 
was  still  alive,  and  the  work  in  manuscript,  the  'Arcadia'  was 


THE  LITE  OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  399 

eulogised  by  his  friend  Edmund  Molyneux  for  'its  excellencie  of 
spirit,  gallant  invention,  varietie  of  matter,  orderlie  disposition,' 
and  'apt  words.'  Greville  described  the  work  as,  in  the  opinion 
of  Sidney's  friends,  much  inferior  to  'that  unbounded  spirit  of  his,' 
but  he  regarded  it  as  at  once  an  artistic  and  ethical  tour  deforce. 
Gabriel  Harvey  eulogised  it  as  '  the  simple  image  of  his  gentle  wit 
and  the  golden  pillar  of  his  noble  courage.'  Hakewill  called  it 
'nothing  inferior  to  the  choicest  piece  among  the  ancients.' 
Almost  from  the  day  of  its  publication  court  ladies  imitated  its 
affected  turns  of  speech  (cf.  DEKKER,  Gull's  Hornbook,  1609; 
BEN  JONSON,  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  act  ii.  sc.  i.  1600). 
Early  in  the  seventeenth  century  a  gentleman  of  fashion  would 
compliment  a  lady  'in  pure  Sir  Philip  Sidney'  (Anecdotes,  Cam- 
den  Soc.  p.  64).  A  prayer  spoken  by  Pamela  (Arcadia,  bk.  iii.) 
was  almost  literally  reproduced  in  a  few  copies  of  the  'EIKWV 
Bao-iAiK?},'  and  one  of  the  charges  made  against  the  king's  memory 
by  Milton  was  that  he  stole  a  prayer  'word  for  word  from  the 
mouth  of  a  heathen  woman,  praying  to  a  heathen  god,  and  that  in 
no  serious  book,  but  in  the  vain  amatorious  poem  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  Arcadia'  (Eikonoklastes,  1649,  I^5o). 

The  influence  of  the  romance  on  contemporary  literature  was 
considerable.  Shakespeare  based  on  Sidney's  story  of  the  '  Paphla- 
gonian  unkind  king'  (bk.  ii.)  the  episode  of  Gloucester  and  his 
sons  in  '  King  Lear, '  while  many  phrases  in  his  plays,  especially 
in  the  'Tempest'  and  'Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  closely 
resemble  expressions  in  the  'Arcadia,'  and  justify  the  conjecture 
that  he  studied  the  romance  as  carefully  as  he  studied  Sidney's 
sonnets  or  his  masque  of  the  'Lady  of  May'  (cf.  Shaksperian 
Parallelisms  collected  from  Sir  Philip  Sydney's  'Arcadia'  by 
Eliza  M.  West,  privately  printed,  1865).  There  is  an  unmistakable 
resemblance  between  Holofernes  in  'Love's  Labour's  Lost'  and 
Rombus,  the  pedantic  schoolmaster  in  Sidney's  masque,  which 
reads  like  a  first  draft  of  one  of  the  pastoral  incidents  of  the  'Ar- 
cadia,' and  was  from  1598  onwards  always  printed  with  it. 
Spenser's  'Faerie  Queene'  also  stands  indebted  at  many  points 
to  Sidney's  romance  (cf.  Notes  and  Queries,  3rd  ser.  vols.  iii.  and 
iv.  passim). 

Extracts  and  epitomes  of  the  'Arcadia'  were  long  popular  as 


400  SIDNEY  LEE 

chap-books,  and  continuations  abounded.  'The  English  Arcadia 
alluding  his  beginning  to  Philip  Sidnes  ending,'  by  Gervase  Mark- 
ham  [q.  v.],  appeared  in  1607.  William  Alexander,  earl  of  Stirling, 
published  in  1621  'a  supplement  of  a  defect  in  the  third  part  of 
Sidney's  Arcadia.'  A  'Sixth  Booke  to  the  Countesse  of  Pem- 
brokes  Arcadia,  written  by  R[ichard]  Bjeling]  of  Lincolnes  Inn/ 
was  issued  in  1624,  and  this,  like  Alexander's  supplement,  was 
included  in  all  the  later  editions.  'Continuation  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  Arcadia,  wherein  is  handled  the  loves  of  Amphialus  and 
Helen  .  .  .  written  by  a  young  gentlewoman,  Mrs.  A.  Wfeames],' 
was  published  in  1651. 

Among  avowed  imitations  may  be  mentioned  Nathaniel  Baxter's 
philosophical  poem  'Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Ourania'  (1606),  'The 
Countess  of  Montgomery's  Urania,'  by  Lady  Mary  Wroth,  Sid- 
ney's niece  (1621),  and  John  Reynolds 's  'Flower  of  Fidelitie' 
(1650).  Sidney's  incidental  story  of  'Argalus  and  Parthenia' 
was  retold  in  verse  by  Francis  Quarles  in  1629. 

Plots  of  plays  were  also  drawn  from  the  'Arcadia.'  John  Day 
described  the  argument  of  his  'He  of  Guls'  (1606)  as  'a  little 
string  or  rivolet  drawne  from  the  gull  streme  of  the  right  worthy 
gentleman  Sir  Philip  Sidneys  well  knowne  Archadea.'  The  plots 
of  Shirley's  pastoral  play  called  'The  Arcadia'  (1614)  and  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher's  'Cupid's  Revenge'  (1615)  came  from  the 
same  source.  Similar  efforts  of  later  date  were  'Andromana,  or 
the  Merchant's  Wife,'  by  J.  S.,  doubtfully  identified  with  Shirley 
(1660);  William  Mountfort's  'Zelmane'  (1705);  Macnamara 
Morgan's  'Philoclea'  (1754),  and  'Parthenia,  an  Arcadian 
drama'  (1764). 

During  the  eighteenth  century  Sidney's  romance  gradually  lost 
its  reputation.  Addison  noticed  it  among  the  books  which  the 
fair  Leonora  bought  for  her  own  shelves  (Spectator,  12  April  1711). 
Richardson  borrowed  from  Sidney's  character  of  Pamela  the  name 
of  his  heroine,  and  at  least  one  of  her  adventures.  Cowper  read 
the  'Arcadia'  with  delight,  and  wrote  in  'The  Task'  (bk.  iii. 
1.  514)  of  'those  Arcadian  scenes'  sung  by  'Sidney,  warbler 
of  poetic  prose.'  But  more  recent  critics  estimate  the  merits 
of  the  romance  more  moderately.  Horace  Walpole  declared  that 
Sidney  wrote  with  the  sangfroid  and  prolixity  of  Mile.  Scuderi. 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  401 

Hazlitt  regarded  the  'Arcadia'  as  one  of  the  greatest  monuments 
of  the  abuse  of  intellectual  power  upon  record.  Hallam  was  more 
favourable,  but  classes  it  with  'long  romances,  proverbially  the 
most  tiresome  of  all  books.'  To  the  literary  historian  the  'Ar- 
cadia '  is  now  mainly  of  value  as  the  most  famous  English  example 
of  the  type  of  literature  which  the  modern  novel  displaced. 

Abroad  the  'Arcadia'  met,  in  its  early  days,  with  an  enthusiastic 
reception.  Du  Bartas  in  his  'Seconde  Semaine'  (1584)  spoke 
of  'Milor  Cidne'  as  constituting,  with  More  and  Bacon,  one  of  the 
three  pillars  of  the  English  speech.  The  romance  was  twice 
translated  into  French,  first  by  J.  Baudouin  as  'L'Arcadie  de  la 
Comtesse  de  Pembrok,  mise  en  nostre  langage'  (Paris,  1624, 
3  vols.  8vo),  with  fancy  portraits  of  Sidney  and  of  his  sister.  The 
second  translation,  of  which  the  opening  part  was  the  work  of 
'un  brave  gentilhomme,'  and  the  rest  by  Mile.  Genevieve  Chap- 
pelain,  was  published  by  Robert  Fouet  in  1625,  and  is  ornamented 
with  attractive  engravings.  In  Charles  Sorel's  satire  on  sixteenth- 
century  romance,  entitled  'Le  Berger  Extravagant,'  1628  (iii.  70, 
134),  praise  was  lavished  on  the  discourses  of  love  and  politics 
which  figure  in  the  'Arcadia.'  'La  Cour  Bergere,'  a  tragi- 
comedy in  verse,  largely  drawn  from  the  'Arcadia,'  by  Antoine 
Mareschal,  was  published  at  Paris  in  1640,  with  a  dedication  to 
Sidney's  nephew,  Robert  Sidney,  second  earl  of  Leicester  [q.  v.]. 
Niceron  in  1731  described  the  'Arcadia'  as  full  of  intelligence 
and  very  well  written  in  his  'Memoires  pour  servir,'  while  Florian, 
in  his  'Essai  sur  la  Pastorale,'  which  he  prefixed  to  'Estelle' 
(1788),  described  Sidney  with  D'Urfe*,  Montemayor,  and  Cer- 
vantes as  his  literary  ancestors. 

A  German  translation  by  Valentinus  Theocritus  was  published 
at  Frankfurt-am-Main  in  1629,  and  was  revised  by  Martin  Opitz 
in  an  edition  of  1643.  A  reprint  of  the  latter  appeared  at  Leyden 
in  1646. 

The  collection  of  sonnets  called  'Astrophel  and  Stella'  has,  of 
all  Sidney's  literary  achievements,  best  stood  the  tests  of  time.  It 
consisted  in  its  authentic  form  of  108  sonnets  and  eleven  songs. 
In  1591,  within  a  year  of  the  first  issue  of  the  'Arcadia,'  a  publisher, 
Thomas  Newman,  secured  a  manuscript  version  of  the  sonnets, 
and  on  his  own  initiative  issued  an  edition  with  a  dedication  to  a 

2D 


402  SIDNEY  LEE 

personal  friend,  Francis  Flower,  with  an  epistle  to  the  reader  by 
Thomas  Nash  (doubtless  the  editor  of  the  volume),  and  an  appen- 
dix of  'sundry  other  rare  sonnets  by  diuers  noblemen  and  gentle- 
men.' Sidney's  friends  in  September  1591  appealed  to  Lord 
Burghley  to  procure  the  suppression  of  this  unauthorised  venture 
(cf.  ARBER,  Stationers'  Registers,  i.  555).  A  month  later,  appar- 
ently, another  unauthorised  publisher,  Matthew  Lownes,  issued  an 
independent  edition,  a  copy  of  which,  said  to  be  unique,  is  in  the 
Bodleian  Library.  Finally  Newman,  at  the  solicitation  of  Sid- 
ney's friends,  reissued  his  volume  in  1591  without  the  prefatory 
matter  and  with  many  revisions  of  the  text  (cf.  copy  in  Brit.  Mus.). 
The  poems  were  again  reprinted  with  the  authorised  edition  of  the 
'Arcadia'  in  1598.  There  they  underwent  a  completer  recension ; 
an  important  sonnet  (xxxviii),  attacking  Lord  Rich  by  name, 
and  two  songs  (viii  and  ix)  were  added  for  the  first  time,  and  the 
songs,  which  had  hitherto  followed  the  sonnets  en  bloc,  were  dis- 
tributed among  them.  This  volume  of  1598  also  supplied  for  the 
first  time  'certaine  sonets  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  never  before 
printed,'  among  which  was  the  splendid  lyric  entitled  ' Love's 
dirge,'  with  the  refrain  'Love  is  dead,'  which  gives  Sidney  a 
high  place  among  lyric  poets.  The  sonnets  were  reprinted  from 
Newman's  two  editions  of  1591  by  Mr.  Arber  in  his  'English 
Garner,'  i.  493  sq.  With  the  songs  and  the  'Defence  of  Poesie,' 
they  were  edited  by  William  Gray  (Oxford,  1829),  and  by  Dr. 
Flugel,  again  with  the  'Defence  of  Poesie,'  in  1889.  A  compact 
reissue  of  'Astrophel  and  Stella,'  edited  by  Mr.  A.  W.  Pollard, 
was  published  in  1891. 

The  sonnets,  which  were  probably  begun  in  1575,  and  ceased 
soon  after  Sidney's  marriage  in  1583,  are  formed  on  the  simple 
model  of  three  rhyming  decasyllabic  quatrains,  with  a  concluding 
couplet.  Whether  or  no  they  were  designed  at  the  outset  as  merely 
literary  exercises,  imitating  Surrey's  addresses  to  Geraldine,  they 
portray  with  historical  precision  the  course  of  Sidney's  ambiguous 
relations  with  Lady  Rich.  There  is  no  reason  to  contest  Nash's 
description  of  their  argument  as  'cruel  chastity  —  the  prologue 
Hope,  the  epilogue  Despair.'  The  opening  poems,  which  are 
clumsily  contrived,  are  frigid  in  temper,  but  their  tone  grows  by 
slow  degrees  genuinely  passionate;  the  feeling  becomes  'full, 


THE  LIFE   OF  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY  403 

material,  and  circumstantiated,'  and  many  of  the  later  sonnets, 
in  reflective  power,  in  felicity  of  phrasing,  and  in  energy  of  senti- 
ment, are  '  among  the  best  of  their  sort '  (cf .  LAMB,  '  Some  Son- 
nets of  Sir  Philip  Sydney,'  in  Essays  of  Elia,  ed.  Ainger,  pp.  286 
sq.).  Shakespeare  was  doubtless  indebted  to  them  for  the  form 
of  his  own  sonnets,  and  at  times  Sidney  seems  to  adumbrate  Shake- 
speare's subtlety  of  thought  and  splendour  of  expression. 

Next  in  importance,  as  in  date  of  publication,  comes  Sidney's 
'Apologie  for  Poetrie.'  About  August  1579  Stephen  Gosson 
published  an  attack  on  stage-plays,  entitled  'The  School  of  Abuse,' 
and  he  followed  it  up  in  November  with  an  '  Apologie  of  the  School 
of  Abuse.'  Both  were  dedicated  to  Sidney.  On  16  Oct.  1579 
Spenser  wrote  from  Leicester  House  to  Gabriel  Harvey:  "Newe 
Bookes  I  heare  of  none  but  only  of  one,  that  writing  a  certaine 
booke  called  The  Schoole  of  Abuse,  and  dedicating  it  to  Maister 
Sidney,  was  for  hys  labor  scorned :  if  at  leaste  it  be  in  the  goodnesse 
of  that  nature  to  scorne.  Suche  follie  is  it,  not  to  regarde  afore 
hande  the  inclination  and  qualitie  of  him,  to  whom  we  dedicate 
oure  bookes."  Sidney  at  once  set  about  preparing  a  retort  to  Gos- 
son, which  took  the  form  of  an  essay  on  the  influence  of  imagina- 
tive literature  on  mankind.  By  poetry  he  understood  any  work 
of  the  imagination.  'Verse,'  he  wrote,  'is  but  an  ornament  and 
no  cause  to  poetry.'  His  'Apologie'  is  in  three  parts;  in  the 
first,  poetry  is  considered  as  teaching  virtuous  action,  in  the  second 
the  various  forms  of  poetry  are  enumerated  and  justified,  and  in  the 
third  a  sanguine  estimate  is  offered  of  the  past,  present,  and  future 
position  of  English  poetry.  Sidney  commended  the  work  of 
Chaucer,  Surrey,  and  Spenser,  but  failed  to  foresee  the  imminent 
greatness  of  English  drama.  He  concluded  with  a  spirited  de- 
nunciation of  the  earth-creeping  mind  that  cannot  lift  itself  up  to 
look  at  the  sky  of  poetry.  There  is  much  that  is  scholastic  and 
pedantic  in  the  detailed  treatment  of  his  theme,  but  his  general 
attitude  is  that  of  an  enlightened  lover  of  great  literature.  The 
work  was  first  printed  as  an  '  Apologie  for  Poetrie '  in  a  separate 
volume  with  four  eulogistic  sonnets  by  Henry  Constable  [q.  v.] 
for  Henry  Olney  in  1595.  It  was  appended,  with  the  title  of  the 
'Defence  of  Poesie,'  to  the  1598  edition  of  the  'Arcadia'  and  to 
all  the  reissues;  it  was  edited  separately  in  1752  (Glasgow),  bv 


404  SIDNEY  LEE 

Lord  Thurlow  in  1810,  by  Professor  Arber  in  1868,  and  by  Mr. 
E.  S.  Shuckburgh  in  1891. 

Sidney's  translation  of  the  Psalms,  in  which  his  sister  joined  him, 
was  long  circulated  in  manuscript,  and  manuscript  copies  are 
numerous  (cf.  Bodl.  Rawlinson  MS.,  Poet.  25;  Brit.  Mm.  Addit. 
MSS.  12047-8;  and  manuscript  in  Trin.  Coll.  Cambridge). 
Donne  wrote  a  fine  poem  in  praise  of  the  work  (cf.  Poems,  1633 ; 
cf.  J onsen's  Conversations  with  Drummond,  p.  15).  It  was  first 
printed  in  1823  by  Robert  Triphook  under  the  editorship  of  Samuel 
Weller  Singer  [q.  v].,  from  a  manuscript  in  the  handwriting  of 
John  Davies  of  Hereford,  then  in  the  possession  of  B.  H.  Bright, 
but  now  at  Penshurst.  The  title  ran:  'The  Psalmes  of  David 
translated  into  divers  and  sundry  kindes  of  Verse,  more  rare  and 
excellent  for  the  Method  and  Variety  than  ever  yet  had  been  done 
in  English.  Begun  by  the  noble  and  learned  gent.  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  Knt,  and  finished  by  the  right  honorable  the  Countess  of 
Pembroke,  his  sister.'  The  first  forty- three  psalms  are,  according 
to  notes  in  the  manuscript,  alone  by  Sidney.  The  metres  are  very 
various.  Psalm  xxxvii  is  an  early  example  of  that  employed 
by  Tennyson  in  'In  Memoriam.'  Sidney's  renderings  enjoyed 
the  advantage  of  republication  with  discursive  commentary  by  Mr. 
Ruskin ;  Mr.  Ruskin's  edition  of  them  forms  the  second  volume 
of  his  'Bibliotheca  Pastorum,'  1877,  and  bears  the  sub-title  of 
'Rock  Honey-comb.'  Sidney's  paraphrase, . according  to  Mr. 
Ruskin,  'aims  straight,  and  with  almost  fiercely  fixed  purpose, 
at  getting  into  the  heart  and  truth  of  the  thing  it  has  got  to  say; 
and  unmistakably,  at  any  cost  of  its  own  dignity,  explaining  that 
to  the  hearer,  shrinking  from  no  familiarity  and  restricting  itself 
from  no  expansion  in  terms,  that  will  make  the  thing  meant 
clearer'  (Pref.  p.  xvii). 

One  of  Sidney's  poetic  works  is  lost.  When  William  Ponsonby 
obtained  a  license  for  the  publication  of  the  'Arcadia'  on  23  Sept. 
1588,  he  also  secured  permission  to  print  'a  translation  of  Salust 
de  Bartas  done  by  the  same  Sr  P.  into  englishe.'  Greville  men- 
tioned in  his  letter  to  Walsingham  that  Sidney  had  executed  this 
translation;  and  Florio,  when  dedicating  the  second  book  of  his 
translation  of  Montaigne  (1603)  to  Sidney's  daughter,  the  Countess 
of  Rutland,  and  to  Sidney's  friend,  Lady  Rich,  notes  that  he  had 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  BUN  VAN  405 

seen  Sidney's  rendering  of  'the  first  septmane  of  that  arch-poet  Du 
Bartas,'  and  entreats  the  ladies  to  give  it  to  the  world.  Nothing 
further  is  known  of  it. 

All  Sidney's  extant  poetry  was  collected  by  Dr.  Grosart  in  1873 
(new  edit.  1877).  The  editor  includes,  besides  the  sonnets,  songs, 
poems  from  the  'Arcadia,'  and  the  psalms,  two  'pastoralls' 
from  Davison's  *  Poetical  Rhapsody;'  'Affection's  Snare,'  from 
Rawlinson  MS.  Poet.  84;  and  'Wooing-stuffe,'  from  'Cottoni 
Posthuma'  (p.  327),  where  it  is  appended  to  a  short  prose  essay, 
'Valour  Anatomized,'  doubtfully  assigned  to  Sidney. 


THE  LIFE  OF   JOHN   BUNYAN 

EDMUND  VENABLES 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

BUNYAN,  JOHN  (1628-1688),  author  of  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress,' 
'Holy  War,'  'Grace  abounding,'  &c.,  was  born  at  the  village 
of  Elstow,  Bedfordshire,  a  little  more  than  a  mile  south  of  the  town 
of  Bedford,  in  November  1628.  His  baptism  is  recorded  in  the 
parish  register  of  Elstow  on  the  3oth  of  that  month.  The  family 
of  Buignon,  Buniun,  Bonyon,  or  Binyan  (the  name  is  found  spelt 
in  no  fewer  than  thirty-four  different  ways),  had  been  settled  in  the 
county  of  Bedford  from  very  early  times.  Their  first  place  of 
settlement  appears  to  have  been  the  parish  of  Pulloxhill,  about 
nine  miles  from  John  Bunyan's  native  village.  In  1199  one  Wil- 
liam Buniun  held  land  at  Wilstead,  a  mile  from  Elstow.  In  1327 
one  of  the  same  name,  probably  his  descendant,  William  Boynon, 
was  living  at  the  hamlet  of  Harrowden,  at  the  south-eastern  boun- 
dary of  the  parish,  close  to  the  very  spot  which  tradition  marks 
out  as  John  Bunyan's  birthplace,  and  which  the  local  names  of 
'Bunyan's  End,'  'Bunyan's  Walk,'  and  'Farther  Bunyan's' 
(as  old^  certainly,  as  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century)  connect 
beyond  all  question  with  the  Bunyan  family.  A  field  known  as 
'Bonyon's  End'  was  sold  in  1 548  by  ' Thomas  Bonyon  of  Elstow, 
labourer,'  son  of  William  Bonyon,  to  Robert  Curtis,  and  other 
portions  of  his  ancestral  property  gradually  passed  to  other  pur- 


406  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

chasers,  little  being  left  to  descend  to  John  Bunyan's  grandfather, 
Thomas  Bunyan  (d.  1641),  save  the  'cottage  or  tenement'  in 
which  he  carried  on  the  occupation  of  'petty  chapman/  or  small 
retail  trader.  This,  in  his  still  extant  will,  he  bequeathed  to  his 
second  wife,  Ann,  and  after  her  death  to  her  stepson  Thomas  and 
her  son  Edward  in  equal  shares.  Thomas,  the  elder  son,  the  father 
of  the  subject  of  this  biography,  was  married  three  times,  the  first 
time  (10  Jan.  1623)  when  only  in  his  twentieth  year,  his  second 
and  third  marriages  occurring  within  a  few  months  of  his  being  left 
a  widower.  John  Bunyan  was  the  first  child  by  his  second  mar- 
riage, which  took  place  on  23  May  1627.  The  maiden  name  of  his 
second  wife  was  Margaret  Bentley.  She,  like  her  husband,  was 
a  native  of  Elstow,  and  was  born  in  the  same  year  with  him,  1603. 
A  year  after  her  marriage,  her  sister  Rose  became  the  wife  of  her 
husband's  younger  half-brother,  Edward.  The  will  of  John  Bun- 
yan's maternal  grandmother,  Mary  Bentley  (d.  1632),  with  its 
'Dutch-like  picture  of  an  Elstow  cottage  interior  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago,'  proves  (J.  BROWN,  Biography  of  John  Bunyan,  to 
which  we  are  indebted  for  all  these  family  details)  that  his  mother 
'came  not  of  the  very  squalid  poor,  but  of  people  who,  though  hum- 
ble in  station,  were  yet  decent  and  worthy  in  their  ways.'  John 
Bunyan's  father,  Thomas  Bunyan,  was  what  we  should  now  call  a 
whitesmith,  a  maker  and  mender  of  pots  and  kettles.  In  his  will 
he  designates  himself  a  'brasier;'  his  son,  who  carried  on  the 
same  trade  and  adopted  the  same  designation  when  describing 
himself,  is  more  usually  styled  a  'tinker.'  Neither  of  them,  how- 
ever, belonged  to  the  vagrant  tribe,  but  had  a  settled  home  at  El- 
stow, where  their  forge  and  workshop  were,  though  they  doubtless 
travelled  the  country  round  in  search  of  jobs.  Contemporary  liter- 
ature depicts  the  tinker's  craft  as  disreputable;  but  we  must  dis- 
tinguish between  the  vagrant  and  the  steady  handicraftsmen, 
dwelling  in  their  own  freehold  tenements,  such  as  the  Bunyans 
evidently  were.  Bunyan,  in  his  intense  self-depreciation,  writes: 
'My  descent  was  of  a  low  and  inconsiderable  generation,  my 
father's  house  being  of  that  rank  that  is  meanest  and  most  despised 
of  all  the  families  of  the  land.'  This  is  certainly  not  language 
that  we  should  be  disposed  to  apply  to  a  family  which  had  from 
time  immemorial  occupied  the  same  freehold,  and  made  testamen- 


THE  LIFE   OF  JOHN    BUN Y AN  407 

tary  dispositions  of  their  small  belongings.  The  antiquity  of  the 
family  in  Bunyan's  native  county  effectually  disposes  of  the  strange 
hallucination  which  even  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  disposed  to  favour, 
that  the  Bunyans,  'though  reclaimed  and  settled,'  may  have 
sprung  from  the  gipsy  tribe.  Bunyan's  parents  sent  their  son  to 
school,  either  to  the  recently  founded  Bedford  grammar  school, 
or,  which  is  more  probable,  to  some  humbler  school  at  Elstow. 
He  learned  reading  and  writing '  according  to  the  rate  of  other  poor 
men's  children.'  'I  never  went  to  school,'  he  writes,  'to  Aris- 
totle or  Plato,  but  was  brought  up  at  my  father's  house  in  a  very 
mean  condition,  among  a  company  of  poor  countrymen.'  And 
what  little  he  learned,  he  confesses  with  shame,  when  he  was  called 
from  his  primer  and  copy-book  to  help  his  father  at  his  trade, 
was  soon  lost,  '  even  almost  utterly.'  In  his  sixteenth  year  (June 
1644)  Bunyan  suffered  the  irreparable  misfortune  of  the  loss  of  his 
mother,  which  was  aggravated  by  his  father  marrying  a  second 
wife  within  two  months  of  her  decease.  The  arrival  of  a  step- 
mother seems  to  have  estranged  Bunyan  from  his  home,  and  to  have 
led  to  his  enlisting  as  a  soldier.  The  civil  war  was  then  drawing 
near  the  end  of  its  first  stage.  Bedfordshire  was  distinctly  par- 
liamentarian in  its  sympathies.  In  the  west  it  was  cut  off  from 
any  communication  with  the  royalists  by  a  strong  line  of  parlia- 
mentary posts.  These  circumstances  lead  to  the  conclusion  that 
a  Bedfordshire  lad  was  more  likely  to  be  found  in  the  parliamen- 
tarian than  in  the  royalist  forces.  This  is  Lord  Macaulay's 
conclusion,  and  is  supported  by  Bunyan's  latest  and  most  pains- 
taking biographer,  the  Rev.  J.  Brown.  Mr.  Froude,  on  the  other 
hand,  together  with  Mr.  Offor  and  Mr.  Copner,  holds  that '  prob- 
ability is  on  the  side  of  his  having  been  with  the  royalists.'  As 
there  is  not  a  tittle  of  evidence  either  way,  the  question  can  never 
be  absolutely  settled.  But  we  hold,  against  Mr.  Froude,  that  all 
probability  points  to  the  parliamentary  force  as  that  in  which 
Bunyan  served.  In  all  likelihood,  on  his  attaining  the  regulation 
age  of  sixteen,  which  he  did  in  November  1644,  he  was  one  of  the 
'able  and  armed  men'  whom  the  parliament  commanded  his 
native  county  to  send  'for  soldiers'  to  the  central  garrison  of 
Newport  Pagnel,  and  included  in  one  of  the  levies.  The  army 
was  disbanded  in  1646.  Before  this  occurred  Bunyan's  provi- 


408  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

dential  preservation  from  death,  which,  according  to  his  anony- 
mous biographer,  'was  a  frequent  subject  of  thankful  reference 
by  him  in  later  years.'  'When  I  was  a  soldier/  he  says,  'I, 
with  others,  was  drawn  out  to  go  to  such  a  place  to  besiege  it. 
But  when  I  was  just  ready  to  go,  one  of  the  company  desired  to 
go  in  my  room;  to  which  when  I  consented,  he  took  my  place, 
and  coming  to  the  siege,  as  he  stood  sentinel  he  was  shot  in  the 
head  with  a  musket  bullet  and  died.'  Bunyan  gives  no  hint  as  to 
the  locality  of  the  siege ;  but,  on  the  faith  of  a  manifestly  incorrect 
account  of  the  circumstance  in  an  anonymous  life,  published  after 
his  death,  it  has  been  currently  identified  with  Leicester,  which  we 
know  to  have  been  taken  by  the  royalist  forces  in  1645;  and  in 
direct  contradiction  to  Bunyan's  own  words  —  for  he  says  plainly 
that  he  stayed  behind,  and  a  comrade  went  in  his  room  —  he  is 
described,  and  that  even  by  Macaulay,  as  having  taken  part  in 
the  siege,  either  as  a  royalist  assailant  or  as  a  parliamentary  de- 
fender. Wherever  the  siege  may  have  been,  it  is  certain  that 
Bunyan  was  not  there.  When  the  forces  were  disbanded,  Bunyan 
must  have  returned  to  his  native  village  and  resumed  his  paternal 
trade.  He  'presently  afterwards  changed  his  condition  into  a 
married  state.'  With  characteristic  reticence  Bunyan  gives  neither 
the  name  of  his  wife  nor  the  date  of  his  marriage ;  but  it  seems  to 
have  occurred  at  the  end  of  1648  or  the  beginning  of  1649,  when  he 
was  not  much  more  than  twenty.  He  and  his  wife  were  '  as  poor 
as  poor  might  be,'  without  'so  much  household  stuff  as  a  dish  or 
spoon  between  them.'  But  his  wife  came  of  godly  parents,  and 
brought  two  pious  books  of  her  father's  to  her  new  home,  the 
reading  of  which  awakened  the  slumbering  sense  of  religion  in 
Bunyan's  heart,  and  produced  an  external  change  of  habits. 
Up  to  this  time,  though  by  no  means  what  would  be  called  'a 
bad  character'  —  for  he  was  no  drunkard,  nor  licentious  —  Bun- 
yan was  a  gay,  daring  young  fellow,  whose  chief  delight  was  in 
dancing,  bell-ringing,  and  in  all  kinds  of  rural  sports  and  pastimes, 
the  ring-leader  of  the  village  youth  at  wake  or  merry-making,  or  in 
the  Sunday  sports  after  service  time  on  the  green.  As  a  boy  he 
had  acquired  the  habit  of  profane  swearing,  in  which  he  became 
such  an  adept  as  to  shock  those  who  were  far  from  scrupulous  in 
their  language  as  'the  ungodliest  fellow  for  swearing  they  ever 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN   BUNYAN  409 

heard.'  All  this  the  influence  of  his  young  wife  and  her  good 
books  gradually  changed.  One  by  one  he  felt  himself  compelled 
to  give  up  all  his  favourite  pursuits  and  pastimes.  He  left  off 
his  habit  of  swearing  at  once  and  entirely.  He  was  diligent  in  his 
attendance  at  services  and  sermons,  and  in  reading  the  Bible,  at 
least  the  narrative  portions.  The  doctrinal  and  practical  part, 
'Paul's  epistles  and  such  like  scriptures,'  he  'could  not  away 
with.'  The  reformation  was  real,  though  as  yet  superficial,  and 
called  forth  the  wonder  of  his  neighbours.  'In  outward  things,' 
writes  Lord  Macaulay,  'he  soon  became  a  strict  Pharisee;'  'a 
poor  painted  hypocrite,'  he  calls  himself.  For  a  time  he  was  well 
content  with  himself.  '  I  thought  no  man  in  England  could  please 
God  better  than  I.'  But  his  self-satisfaction  did  not  last  long. 
The  insufficiency  of  such  a  merely  outward  change  was  borne  in 
upon  him  by  the  spiritual  conversation  of  a  few  poor  women  whom 
he  overheard  one  day  when  pursuing  his  tinker's  craft  at  Bedford, 
'sitting  at  a  door  in  the  sun  and  talking  about  the  things  of  God.' 
Though  by  this  time  somewhat  of  'a  brisk  talker  on  religion,' 
he  found  himself  a  complete  stranger  to  their  inner  experience. 
This  conversation  was  the  beginning  of  the  tremendous  spiritual 
conflict  described  by  him  with  such  graphic  power  in  his  '  Grace 
abounding.'  It  lasted  some  three  or  four  years,  at  the  end  of 
which,  in  1653,  he  joined  the  nonconformist  body,  to  which 
these  poor  godly  women  belonged.  This  body  met  for  wor- 
ship in  St.  John's  Church,  Bedford,  of  which  the  'holy  Mr. 
Gifford,'  once  a  loose  young  officer  in  the  royal  army,  had  been 
appointed  rector  in  the  same  year.  His  temptations  ceased,  his 
spiritual  conflict  was  over,  and  he  entered  on  a  peace  which  was 
rendered  all  the  more  precious  by  the  previous  mental  agony. 
The  sudden  alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  the  fierce  temptations, 
the  torturing  illusions,  the  strange  perversions  of  isolated  texts, 
the  harassing  doubts  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  the  depths  of 
despair  and  the  elevations  of  joy  through  which  he  passed  are  fully 
described  '  as  with  a  pen  of  fire '  in  that  marvellous  piece  of  reli- 
gious autobiography,  unrivalled  save  by  the  'Confessions'  of 
St.  Augustine,  his  'Grace  abounding  to  the  Chief  of  Sinners.' 
Bunyan  was  at  this  time  still  resident  at  Elstow,  where  his  blind 
child  Mary  and  his  second  daughter  Elizabeth  were  born.  It 


410  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

was  probably  in  1655  that  Bunyan  removed  to  Bedford.  Here  he 
soon  lost  the  wife  to  whose  piety  he  had  owed  so  much,  and  about 
the  same  time  his  pastor  and  friend,  the '  holy  Mr.  Gifford.'  His 
own  health  also  suffered;  he  was  threatened  with  consumption, 
but  his  naturally  robust  constitution  carried  him  safely  through 
what  at  one  time  he  expected  would  have  been  a  fatal  illness. 
In  1655  Bunyan,  who  had  been  chosen  one  of  the  deacons,  began 
to  exercise  his  gift  of  exhortation,  at  first  privately,  and  as  he  gained 
courage  and  his  ministry  proved  acceptable  'in  a  more  publick 
way.'  In  1657  n^s  calling  as  a  preacher  was  formally  recognised, 
and  he  was  set  apart  to  that  office,  '  after  solemn  prayer  and  fast- 
ing,' another  member  being  appointed  deacon  in  his  room, 
'  brother  Bunyan  being  taken  off  by  preaching  the  gospel.'  His 
fame  as  a  preacher  soon  spread.  When  it  was  known  that  the 
once  blaspheming  tinker  had  turned  preacher,  they  flocked  'by 
hundreds,  and  that  from  all  parts,'  to  hear  him,  though,  as  he 
says, '  upon  sundry  and  divers  accounts '  —  some  to  marvel,  some 
to  mock,  but  some  with  an  earnest  desire  to  profit  by  his  words. 
After  his  ordination  Bunyan  continued  to  pursue  his  trade  as  a 
brazier,  combining  with  it  the  exercise  of  his  preaching  gifts  as 
occasion  served  in  the  various  villages  visited  by  him,  '  in  woods, 
in  barns,  on  village  greens,  or  in  town  chapels.'  Opposition  was 
naturally  aroused  among  the  settled  ministry  by  such  remarkable 
popularity.  'All  the  midland  counties,'  writes  Mr.  Froude, 
'  heard  of  his  fame  and  demanded  to  hear  him.'  In  some  places, 
as  at  Meldreth  and  Yelden,  at  the  latter  of  which  he  had  preached 
on  Christmas  day  by  the  permission  of  the  rector,  Dr.  William 
Dell,  master  of  Gonville  and  Caius,  the  pulpits  of  the  churches 
were  opened  to  him ;  in  other  places  the  incumbents  of  the  parishes 
were  his  bitterest  enemies.  They,  in  the  words  of  Mr.  Henry 
Deane  when  defending  Bunyan  against  the  attacks  of  Dr.  T.  Smith, 
keeper  of  the  university  library  at  Cambridge,  were  'angry  with 
the  tinker  because  he  strove  to  mend  souls  as  well  as  kettles  and 
pans.'  '  When  I  went  first  to  preach  the  word  abroad,'  he  writes, 
'  the  doctors  and  priests  of  the  country  did  open  wide  against  me.' 
In  1658  he  was  indicted  at  the  assizes  for  preaching  at  Eaton 
Socon,  but  with  what  result  is  unrecorded.  He  was  called  'a 
witch,  a  Jesuit,  a  highwayman ; '  he  was  charged  with  keeping 


THE  LIFE   OF  JOHN   BUN Y AN  411 

'his  misses,'  with  ' having  two  wives  at  once,'  and  other  equally 
absurd  and  groundless  accusations.  His  career  as  an  author  now 
began.  His  earliest  work,  'Some  Gospel  Truths  opened,'  pub- 
lished at  Newport  Pagnel  in  1656,  with  a  commendatory  letter  by 
his  pastor,  John  Burton,  was  a  protest  against  the  mysticism  of  the 
teaching  of  the  quakers.  Having  been  answered  by  Edward  Bur- 
rough  [q.  v.],  an  ardent  and  somewhat  foul-mouthed  member  of 
that  sect,  Bunyan  replied  the  next  year  in  'A  Vindication  of  Gos- 
pel Truths,'  in  which  he  repays  his  antagonist  in  his  own  coin, 
calling  him  'a  gross  railing  Rabshakeh,'  who  'befools  himself,' 
and  proves  his  complete  ignorance  of  the  gospel.  Like  the  former 
work  it  is  written  in  a  very  nervous  style,  showing  a  great  command 
of  plain  English,  as  well  as  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  Holy 
Scripture.  A  third  book  was  published  by  Bunyan  in  1658  on 
the  parable  of  the  rich  man  and  Lazarus,  under  the  horror-striking 
title  of  'Sighs  from  Hell,  or  the  Groans  of  a  Damned  Soul.'  It 
issued  from  the  press  a  few  days  before  Cromwell's  death.  In  this 
work,  as  its  title  would  suggest,  Bunyan  gives  full  scope  to  his  vivid 
imagination  in  describing  the  condition  of  the  lost.  It  contains 
many  touches  of  racy  humour,  especially  in  his  similes,  and  the 
whole  is  written  in  the  nervous,  forcible  English  of  which  he  was 
master. 

On  the  Restoration  the  old  acts  against  nonconformists  were 
speedily  revived.  The  meeting-houses  were  closed.  All  persons 
were  required  under  severe  penalties  to  attend  their  parish  church. 
The  ejected  clergy  were  reinstated.  It  became  an  illegal  act  to 
conduct  divine  service  except  in  accordance  with  the  ritual  of  the 
church,  or  for  one  not  in  episcopal  orders  to  address  a  congregation. 
Bunyan  continued  his  ministrations  in  barns,  in  private  houses, 
under  the  trees,  wherever  he  found  brethren  ready  to  pray  and  hear. 
So  daring  and  notorious  an  offender  was  not  likely  to  go  long  un- 
punished. Within  six  months  of  Charles's  landing  he  was  arrested, 
on  12  Nov.  1660,  at  the  little  hamlet  of  Lower  Samsell  by  Har- 
lington,  about  thirteen  miles  from  Bedford  to  the  south,  where 
he  was  going  to  hold  a  religious  service  in  a  private  house.  The 
issuing  of  the  warrant  had  become  known,  and  Bunyan  might  have 
escaped  if  he  had  been  so  minded,  but  he  was  not  the  man  to  play 
the  coward.  If  he  fled,  it  would  'make  an  ill-savour  in  the 


412  EDMUND    VENABLES 

county'  and  dishearten  the  weaker  brethren.  If  he  ran  before 
a  warrant,  others  might  run  before  'great  words.'  While  he  was 
conducting  the  service  he  was  arrested  and  taken  before  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Wingate,  who,  though  really  desirous  to  release  him,  was  com- 
pelled by  his  obstinate  refusal  to  forbear  preaching  to  commit  him 
for  trial  to  the  county  gaol,  which,  with  perhaps  a  brief  interval 
of  enlargement  in  1666,  was  to  be  his  'close  and  uncomfortable' 
place  of  abode  for  the  next  twelve  years.  The  prison  to  which 
Bunyan  was  committed  was  not,  as  an  obstinate  and  widespread 
error  has  represented,  the  '  town  gaol,'  or  rather  lock-up  house, 
which  occupied  one  of  the  piers  of  the  many-arched  Ouse  bridge, 
for  the  temporary  incarceration  of  petty  offenders  against  municipal 
law,  but  the  county  gaol,  a  much  less  confined  and  comfortless 
abode.  A  few  weeks  after  his  committal  the  quarter  sessions  for 
January  1661  were  held  at  Bedford,  and  Bunyan  was  indicted  for 
his  offence.  The  proceedings  seem  to  have  been  irregular.  There 
was  no  desire  on  the  part  of  the  justices  to  deal  hardly  with  the 
prisoner ;  but  he  confessed  the  indictment,  and  declared  his  deter- 
mination to  repeat  the  offence  on  the  first  opportunity.  The 
justices  had  therefore  no  choice  in  the  matter.  They  were  bound 
to  administer  the  law  as  it  stood.  So  he  was  sentenced  to  a  further 
three  months'  term  of  imprisonment,  and  if  then  he  persisted  in  his 
contumacy  he  would  be  '  banished  the  realm,'  and  if  he  returned 
without  royal  license  he  would  '  stretch  by  the  neck  for  it.'  To- 
wards the  end  of  the  three  months,  with  an  evident  desire  to  avoid 
proceeding  to  extremities,  the  clerk  of  the  peace  was  sent  to  him 
by  the  justices  to  endeavour  to  induce  him  to  conform.  But,  as 
might  have  been  anticipated,  all  attempts  to  bend  Bunyan's  sturdy 
nature  were  vain.  Every  kind  of  compromise,  however  kindly 
and  sensibly  urged,  was  steadily  refused.  He  would  not  substitute 
private  exhortation,  which  might  have  been  allowed  him,  for  public 
preaching.  'The  law,'  he  replied,  'had  provided  two  % ways  of 
obeying  —  one  to  obey  actively,  and  if  he  could  not  bring  his 
conscience  to  that,  then  to  suffer  whatever  penalty  the  law  enacted.' 
Three  weeks  later,  23  April  1661,  the  coronation  of  Charles  II 
afforded  an  opportunity  of  enlargement.  All  prisoners  for  every 
offence  short  of  felony  were  to  be  released.  Those  who  were 
waiting  their  trials  might  be  dismissed  at  once.  Those  convicted 


THE  LIFE   OF  JOHN   BUNYAN  413 

and  under  sentence  might  sue  out  a  pardon  under  the  great  seal 
at  any  time  within  the  year.  Bunyan  failed  to  profit  by  the  royal 
clemency.  Although  he  had  not  been  legally  convicted,  for  no 
witnesses  had  been  heard  against  him,  nor  had  he  pleaded  to  the 
indictment,  his  trial  having  been  little  more  than  a  conversation 
between  him  and  the  court,  the  authorities  chose  to  regard  it  as 
a  legal  conviction,  rendering  it  necessary  that  a  pardon  should  be 
sued  for. 

About  a  year  before  his  apprehension  at  Samsell,  Bunyan  had 
taken  a  second  wife,  Elizabeth,  to  watch  over  his  four  little  mother- 
less children.  This  noble-hearted  woman  showed  undaunted  cour- 
age in  seeking  her  husband's  release.  She  travelled  to  London  with 
a  petition  to  the  House  of  Peers,  from  some  of  whom  she  met 
with  kindly  sympathy  but  little  encouragement.  *  The  matter  was 
one  for  the  judges,  not  for  them.'  At  the  next  midsummer  assize, 
therefore,  the  poor  woman  on  three  several  occasions  presented  her 
husband's  formal  request  that  he  might  be  legally  put  on  his  trial 
and  his  case  fully  heard.  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  who  was  one  of  the 
judges  of  that  assize,  listened  to  her  pitiful  tale,  and  manifested 
much  kind  feeling.  But  he  was  powerless.  'Her  husband  had 
been  duly  convicted.  She  must  either  sue  out  his  pardon,  or  obtain 
a  writ  of  error.'  Neither  of  these  courses  was  adopted ;  and  wisely 
so,  for,  as  Mr.  Froude  remarks,  '  a  pardon  would  have  been  of  no 
use  to  Bunyan  because  he  was  determined  to  persevere  in  dis- 
obeying a  law  which  he  considered  to  be  unjust.  The  most  real 
kindness  which  could  be  shown  him  was  to  leave  him  where  he 
was.'  At  the  next  spring  assizes,  in  1662,  a  strenuous  effort  was 
again  made  to  get  his  case  brought  into  court.  This  again  failed. 
After  this  he  seems  to  have  desisted  from  any  further  attempt,  and, 
with  a  slight  interval  in  1666,  he  remained  in  prison,  not  altogether 
unhappily,  till  1672,  twelve  years  from  his  first  committal.  The 
character  of  his  imprisonment  varied  with  the  disposition  of  his 
gaolers.  During  the  earlier  part  of  the  time  he  was  allowed  to 
follow  his  wonted  course  of  preaching,  'taking  all  occasions  to 
visit  the  people  of  God,'  and  even  going  to  'see  Christians  in 
London.'  The  Bedford  church  books  show  that  he  was  frequently 
present  at  church  meetings  during  some  periods  of  his  imprison- 
ment. Such  indulgence,  however,  was  plainly  irregular.  Its 


414  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

discovery  nearly  cost  the  gaoler  his  place,  and  brought  on  Bunyan 
a  much  more  rigorous  confinement.  He  was  forbidden  'even  to 
look  out  at  the  door.'  For  seven  years  out  of  the  twelve,  1661-8, 
his  name  never  occurs  in  the  records  of  the  church.  In  1666,  after 
six  years  of  prison  life,  'by  the  intercession  of  some  in  trust  and 
power  that  took  pity  upon  his  suffering,'  Bunyan  was  released. 
But  in  a  few  weeks  he  was  arrested  once  more  for  his  former 
offence,  at  a  meeting,  and  returned  to  his  former  quarters  for 
another  six  years.  Being  precluded  by  his  imprisonment  from 
carrying  on  his  trade,  he  betook  himself,  for  the  support  of  his 
family,  to  making  long  tagged  laces,  many  hundred  gross  of  which 
he  sold  to  the  hawkers.  Nor  was  'the  word  of  God  bound.' 
The  gaol  afforded  him  the  opportunity  of  exercising  his  ministerial 
gifts  forbidden  outside  its  walls.  Many  of  his  co-religionists  from 
time  to  time  were  his  fellow-prisoners,  at  one  time  as  many  as 
sixty.  He  gave  religious  instruction  and  preached  to  his  fellow- 
prisoners,  and  furnished  spiritual  counsel  to  persons  who  were 
allowed  to  visit  him.  Some  of  his  prison  sermons  were  the  rough 
drafts  of  subsequent  more  elaborate  publications.  His  two  chief 
companions  were  the  Bible  and  Foxe's  'Book  of  Martyrs.'  Bun- 
yan, as  we  have  seen,  had  ventured  on  authorship  before  his  im- 
prisonment. The  enforced  leisure  of  a  gaol  gave  him  abundant 
opportunity  for  its  pursuit.  Books  and  tracts,  some  in  prose, 
some  in  verse,  were  produced  by  his  fertile  pen  with  great  rapidity. 
His  first  prison  book  was  in  metre  —  we  can  hardly  call  it  poetry  — 
entitled  'Profitable  Meditations,'  in  the  form  of  dialogue,  and 
has  'small  literary  merit  of  any  sort'  (BROWN,  p.  172).  This  was 
followed  by  'Praying  in  the  Spirit,'  written  in  1662  and  published 
in  1663 ;  'Christian  Behaviour,'  written  and  published  in  the  same 
year;  the  'Four  Last  Things'  and  'Ebal  and  Gerizim,'  both  in 
verse,  the  'Holy  City/  the  'Resurrection  of  the  Dead,'  and 
'Prison  Meditations,'  a  reply  in  verse  to  a  friend  who  had  written 
to  him  in  prison,  which  all  appeared  between  1663  and  1665. 
These  minor  productions  were  succeeded  by  his  '  Grace  abounding 
to  the  Chief  of  Sinners,'  one  of  the  three  books  by  which  Bunyan's 
name  is  chiefly  known,  which  will  ever  hold  a  high  place  among 
records  of  spiritual  experience.  This  appeared  in  1666.  About 
this  time  took  place  the  few  months'  release  from  prison  previously 


THE  LIFE   OF  JOHN   BUN  VAN  415 

alluded  to.  Our  knowledge  of  this  second  six  years'  incarceration 
is  almost  a  blank.  Even  his  literary  activity  appears  to  have  suf- 
fered a  temporary  paralysis.  It  was  not  till  1672  that  his  'Defence 
of  Justification  by  Faith '  appeared.  This  was  a  vehement  attack 
on  the  'brutish  and  beastly  latitudinarianism '  of  the  'Design 
of  Christianity,'  a  book  written  by  the  Rev.  Edward  Fowler  [q.  v.], 
rector  of  Northill,  which  had  recently  attained  great  popularity, 
and  which  Richard  Baxter  also  deemed  worthy  of  a  reply. 
Fowler's  book  seemed  to  Bunyan  to  aim  a  deadly  blow  at  the  very 
foundations  of  the  gospel,  and  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his 
abhorrence  of  the  attempt.  With  'a  ferocity'  that,  as  Lord 
Macaulay  has  said,  'nothing  can  justify,'  he  assails  the  book  and 
its  author  with  a  shower  of  vituperative  epithets  savouring  of  the 
earlier  stage  in  his  career  when  he  was  notorious  for  the  bold  license 
of  his  talk.  He  describes  Fowler  as  'rotten  at  heart,'  'heathen- 
ishly  dark,'  'a  prodigious  blasphemer'  'dropping  venom  from 
his  pen,'  'an  ignorant  Sir  John,'  one  of  'a  gang  of  rabbling, 
counterfeit  clergy, "like  apes  covering  their  shame  with  their  tail.' 
An  anonymous  reply,  entitled  'Dirt  wip't  off,'  supposed  to  be  the 
joint  production  of  Fowler  and  his  curate,  appeared  the  same  year, 
almost  rivalling  Bunyan  in  the  mastery  of  abusive  epithets.  Bun- 
yan's  last  work  before  his  enlargement,  written  in  the  early  part  of 
1672,  was  the  '  Confession  of  my  Faith  and  Reason  of  my  Practice.' 
Its  object  was  to  vindicate  his  teaching  and  if  possible  to  secure 
his  liberty.  That  the  imperishable  allegory  on  which  Bunyan's 
claim  to  immortality  chiefly  rests,  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  was 
also  written  in  prison,  we  know  on  Bunyan's  own  authority.  The 
'den'  in  which  he  dreamed  his  wonderful  dream  is  identified 
by  himself,  in  the  third  or  first  complete  edition  of  1679,  w*tn  'tne 
gaol.'  That  this  gaol  was  the  strait  and  unwholesome  lock-up 
house  on  Bedford  bridge  was  long  accepted  as  an  undoubted  fact. 
When  it  was  shown  that  being  a  county  prisoner  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  have  passed  his  twelve  years'  captivity  in  a  town  gaol 
intended  for  casual  offenders,  it  was  concluded  that  the  county 
gaol,  which  was  certainly  the  place  of  his  incarceration,  was  also 
the  place  of  the  composition  of  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress.'  This 
conclusion  has  been  recently  called  in  question  by  the  Rev.  J. 
Brown,  who  gives  reasons  for  believing  that  the  composition  of  the 


416  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

allegory  belongs  to  a  short  six  months'  confinement,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  story  told  by  his  anonymous  biographer,  and  confirmed 
by  Charles  Doe,  he  was  subjected  to  at  a  later  period.  The  date  of 
this  imprisonment  is  fixed  by  Mr.  Brown  as  1675,  and,  according 
to  the  account  preserved  in  Asty's  'Life  of  Owen,'  he  was  released 
from  it  by  the  intervention  of  Dr.  Thomas  Barlow,  bishop  of  Lin- 
coln, whose  diocese  then  included  the  county  of  Bedford.  The 
strongest  argument  in  support  of  Mr.  Brown's  view  is  the  improb- 
ability that  if  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress'  had  been  written  during  the 
twelve  years'  imprisonment  which  came  to  an  end  in  1672,  it  should 
have  remained  six  years  unpublished,  the  first  edition  not  appearing 
till  1678.  It  was  not  Bunyan's  way  to  keep  his  works  so  long  in 
manuscript.  Besides,  in  the  author's  poetical  'Apology  for  his 
Book,'  his  account  of  its  composition  and  publication  suggests 
that  there  was  no  such  prolonged  interval  as  the  common  accounts 
represent. 

Bunyan's  twelve  years'  imprisonment  came  to  an  end  in  1672. 
With  the  covert  intent  of  setting  up  the  Roman  catholic  religion 
in  England,  Charles  II  had  suspended  all  penal  statutes  against 
nonconformists  and  popish  recusants.  Bunyan  was  one  of  those 
who  profited  by  this  infamous  subterfuge.  His  pardon  under  the 
great  seal  bears  date  13  Sept.  1672.  This,  however,  was  no  more 
than  the  official  sanction  of  what  had  been  already  virtually  granted 
and  acted  on.  For  Bunyan  had  received  one  of  the  first  licenses 
to  preach  given  by  the  royal  authority,  dated  9  May  of  that  year, 
and  had  been  called  to  the  pastorate  of  the  nonconformist  congre- 
gation at  Bedford,  of  which  he  had  been  so  long  a  member,  on  the 
2ist  of  the  preceding  January.  The  church  of  St.  John,  which 
had  been  occupied  by  this  congregation  during  the  Protectorate, 
had,  on  the  Restoration,  returned  to  its  rightful  owners,  and  the 
place  licensed  for  the  exercise  of  Bunyan's  ministry  was  a  barn  in 
the  orchard  belonging  to  a  member  of  the  body.  This  continued 
to  be  the  place  of  meeting  of  the  congregation  until  1707,  when  a 
new  chapel  was  erected  on  its  site.  Though  Bunyan  made  Bed- 
ford the  centre  of  his  work,  he  extended  his  ministrations  through 
the  whole  country,  and  even  beyond  its  limits.  One  of  his  first 
acts  after  his  liberation  was  to  apply  to  the  government  for  licenses 
for  preachers  and  preaching  places  in  the  country  round.  Among 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN   BUN  VAN  417 

jhese  he  made  stated  circuits,  being  playfully  known  as  'Bishop 
Bunyan,'  his  diocese  being  a  large  one,  and,  in  spite  of  strenuous 
efforts  at  repression  by  the  ecclesiastical  authorities,  steadily  in- 
creasing in  magnitude  and  importance.  It  is  interesting  to  notice 
that  Bunyan's  father,  the  tinker  of  Elstow,  lived  on  till  1676,  being 
buried  at  Elstow  on  7  Feb.  of  that  year.  In  his  will,  while  leaving 
a  shilling  apiece  to  his  famous  son  and  his  three  other  children, 
he  bequeathed  all  he  had  to  his  third  wife,  Ann,  who  survived 
him  four  years,  and  was  buried  in  the  same  church -yard  as  her 
husband  on  25  Sept  1680. 

Bunyan's  active  ministerial  labours  did  not  interfere  with  his 
literary  work ;  this  continued  as  prolific  as  when  writing  was  almost 
the  only  relief  from  the  tedium  of  his  confinement.  Besides 
minor  works,  in  1676  appeared  the  'Strait  Gate/  directed  against 
an  inconsistent  profession  of  Christianity  by  those  who,  in  his 
graphic  language,  can  'throw  stones  with  both  hands,  alter  their 
religion  as  fast  as  their  company,  can  live  in  water  and  out  of  water, 
run  with  the  hare  and  kill  with  the  hounds,  carry  fire  in  one  hand 
and  water  in  the  other,  very  anythings.'  This  was  succeeded 
in  1678  by  the  first  edition  of  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and  in  the 
same  year  by  the  second,  and  the  next  year  by  the  third,  each  with 
very  important  additions,  including  some  of  the  best-known  and 
most  characteristic  personages,  such  as  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman, 
Mr.  By-ends  and  his  family,  and  Mrs.  Diffidence,  the  wife  of  Giant 
Despair.  'Come  and  welcome  to  Jesus  Christ,'  'with  its  musical 
title  and  soul- moving  pleas,'  was  published  in  1678,  and  his  'Trea- 
tise of  the  Fear  of  God '  in  1679.  The  next  year  gave  to  the  world 
one  of  Bunyan's  most  characteristic  works,  'The  Life  and  Death 
of  Mr.  B adman,'  which,  though  now  almost  forgotten,  and  too 
disagreeable  in  its  subject  and  its  boldly  drawn  details  to  be  alto- 
gether wholesome  reading,  displays  Bunyan's  inventive  genius  as 
powerfully  as  the  universally  popular  'Pilgrim,'  of  which,  as 
Bunyan  intended  it  to  be,  it  is  the  strongly  drawn  contrast  and  foil. 
The  one  gives  a  picture  of  a  man  '  in  the  rank  of  English  life  with 
which  Bunyan  was  most  familiar,'  to  quote  Mr.  Froude,  'a  vulgar, 
middle-class,  unprincipled  scoundrel,'  'travelling  along  the  prim- 
rose path  to  the  everlasting  bonfire,'  while  the  other  sets  before  us 
a  man  essentially  of  the  same  social  rank,  fleeing  from  the  wrath 

2E 


418  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

to  come,  and  making  his  painful  way  'to  Emmanuel's  Land 
through  the  Slough  of  Despond  and  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death.'  As  a  portrait  of  rough  English  country- town  life  in  the 
days  of  Charles  II,  the  later  book  is  unapproached,  save  by  the 
unsavoury  tales  of  Defoe.  '  The  Life  and  Death  of  Mr.  Badman' 
was  followed,  after  a  two  years'  interval,  by  Bunyan's  second  great 
work,  'The  Holy  War  made  by  Shaddai  upon  Diabolus,'  of  which 
Macaulay  has  said,  with  somewhat  exaggerated  eulogy,  that  'if 
there  had  been  no  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  the  "Holy  War"  would 
have  been  the  first  of  religious  allegories.'  There  is  a  necessary 
unreality  about  the  whole  narrative  as  compared  with  Bunyan's 
former  allegory.  The  characters  are  shadowy  abstractions  by  the 
side  of  the  'representative  realities'  of  the  other  work.  With  a 
truer  estimate  of  the  relative  value  of  the  two  works,  Mr.  Froude 
says:  '"The  Holy  War"  would  have  entitled  Bunyan  to  a  place 
among  the  masters  of  English  literature.  It  would  never  have 
made  his  name  a  household  word  in  every  English-speaking  family 
in  the  globe.'  Other  works,  notably  the  'Barren  Fig  Tree' 
and  'The  Pharisee  and  the  Publican,'  were  given  to  the  world 
in  1682  and  the  four  succeeding  years.  In  1684  appeared  the  sec- 
ond part  of  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  completing  the  history  of 
Christian's  pilgrimage  with  that  of  his  wife  Christiana  and  her 
children,  and  her  companion,  the  young  maiden  Mercy.  Like 
most  second  parts  of  popular  works,  this  shows  a  decided  falling 
off.  It  is  '  but  a  feeble  reverberation  of  the  first  part.  Christiana 
and  her  children  are  tolerated  for  the  pilgrim's  sake  to  whom  they 
belong.'  But  it  bears  the  stamp  of  Bunyan's  genius,  and  not  a 
few  of  the  characters,  Old  Honest,  Mr.  Valiant-for-the-Truth, 
Mr.  Despondency  and  his  daughter  Miss  Much-afraid,  and  the 
'young  woman  whose  name  was  Dull,'  have  a  vitality  that  can 
never  decay. 

There  is  little  more  to  notice  in  Bunyan's  life.  His  activity  was 
ceaseless,  but  '  the  only  glimpses  we  get  of  him  during  this  time  are 
from  the  church  records,  and  these  were  but  scantily  kept,'  and 
are  quite  devoid  of  public  interest,  chiefly  dealing  with  the  internal 
discipline  of  the  body.  Troublous  times  fell  upon  nonconformists. 
The  Declaration  of  Indulgence  was  withdrawn  the  same  year  it 
was  issued.  The  Test  Act  became  law  the  next  year  (1673).  In 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN   BUNYAN  419 

1675  the  acts  against  nonconformists  were  put  in  force.  Bunyan's 
preaching  journeys  were  not  always  free  from  risk.  There  is 
a  tradition  that  he  visited  Reading  disguised  as  a  wagoner,  with 
a  long  whip  in  his  hand,  to  escape  detection.  But  he  continued  free 
from  active  molestation,  with  the  exception  of  the  somewhat  hazy 
imprisonment  placed  by  Mr.  Brown  in  1675.  In  Mr.  Froude's 
words,  '  he  abstained,  as  he  had  done  steadily  throughout  his  life, 
from  all  interference  with  politics,  and  the  government  in  turn  never 
meddled  with  him.'  He  frequently  visited  London  to  preach, 
always  getting  large  congregations.  Twelve  hundred  would  come 
together  to  hear  him  at  seven  o'clock  on  a  weekday  morning  in 
winter.  When  he  preached  on  a  Sunday,  the  meeting-house 
would  not  .contain  the  throng,  half  being  obliged  to  go  away. 
A  sermon  delivered  by  him  at  Pinners'  Hall  in  Old  Broad  Street 
was  the  basis  of  one  of  his  theological  works.  He  was  on  intimate 
terms  with  Dr.  John  Owen,  who,  when  Charles  II  expressed  his 
astonishment  that  so  learned  a  divine  could  listen  to  an  illiterate 
tinker,  is  recorded  to  have  replied  that  he  would  gladly  give  up  all 
his  learning  for  the  tinker's  power  of  reaching  the  heart.  In  the 
year  of  his  death  he  was  chaplain,  though  perhaps  unofficially, 
to  Sir  John  Shorter,  then  lord  mayor  of  London.  He  did  not 
escape  temptation  to  leave  Bedford  for  posts  of  greater  influence 
and  dignity ;  but  all  such  offers  he  steadily  refused,  as  he  did  any 
opportunities  of  pecuniary  gain  for  himself  and  his  family,  quietly 
staying  at  his  post  through  all '  changes  of  ministry,  popish  plots, 
and  Monmouth  rebellions,  while  the  terror  of  a  restoration  of 
popery  was  bringing  on  the  revolution,  careless  of  kings  and  cabi- 
nets' (FROUDE,  p.  174).  When  James  II  was  endeavouring  to 
remodel  the  corporations,  Bunyan  was  pointed  out  as  a  likely 
instrument  for  carrying  out  the  royal  purpose  in  the  corporation  of 
Bedford.  It  seems  that  some  place  under  government  wras  offered 
as  the  price  of  his  consent;  but  he  declined  all  such  overtures, 
and  refused  to  see  the  bringer  of  them,  though  by  no  means  un- 
willing to  give  his  aid  in  securing  the  repeal  of  the  penal  laws  and 
tests  under  which  he  and  his  flock  had  so  long  smarted.  This  was 
in  November  1687,  barely  twelve  months  before  James's  abdica- 
tion. Three  years  before  he  had  felt  it  so  possible  that  he  might 
be  called  again  to  suffer  for  conscience'  sake  under  these  same  laws, 


420  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

that  he  executed  a  deed  of  gift,  dated  23  Dec.  1685,  making  ovei 
all  his  worldly  possessions  to  his  wife,  Elizabeth  Bunyan. 

Bunyan  did  not  live  to  see  the  revolution.  His  death  took  place 
in  1688,  four  months  after  the  acquittal  of  the  seven  bishops.  In 
the  spring  of  that  year  he  had  been  enfeebled  by  an  attack  of 
'  sweating  sickness.'  He  caught  a  severe  cold  on  a  ride  through 
heavy  rain  to  London  from  Reading,  whither  he  had  gone  to  effect 
a  reconciliation  between  a  father  and  a  son.  A  fever  ensued,  and 
he  died  on  31  Aug.  at  the  house  of  his  friend  John  Strudwick,  who 
kept  a  grocer's  and  chandler's  shop  at  the  sign  of  the  Star,  Holborn 
Bridge,  two  months  before  he  had  completed  his  sixtieth  year. 
He  continued  his  literary  activity  to  the  last.  Four  books  from  his 
pen  had  been  published  in  the  first  half  of  the  year,  and  he  partly 
revised  the  sheets  of  a  short  treatise  entitled  'The  Acceptable 
Sacrifice'  on  his  deathbed.  He  was  buried  in  Mr.  Strudwick's 
vault  in  the  burial-ground  in  Bunhill  Fields,  Finsbury.  His 
personal  estate  was  sworn  under  loot. 

Bunyan  was  the  father  of  six  children,  four  by  his  first  wife, 
and  two  by  the  second.  His  elder  child  Mary,  his  blind  child 
(born  in  1650),  of  whom  he  writes  in  the  'Grace  abounding' 
with  such  exquisite  tenderness,  died  before  her  father.  His  chil- 
dren, John,  Thomas,  and  Elizabeth  by  his  first  wife,  and  Sarah 
and  Joseph  by  his  second  wife,  survived  him.  His  heroic  wife 
lived  only  a  year  and  a  half  after  him,  and  died  early  in  1691.  The 
only  known  representatives  of  Bunyan  are  the  descendants  of  his 
youngest  daughter  Sarah.  In  1686,  two  years  before  her  father's 
death,  she  had  married  her  fellow-parishioner,  William  Browne, 
and  her  descendants  form  a  rather  numerous  and  widespread  clan. 

Bunyan's  personal  appearance  is  thus  described  by  a  contem- 
porary: 'He  was  tall  of  stature,  strong-boned  though  not  cor- 
pulent, somewhat  of  a  ruddy  face  with  sparkling  eyes,  wearing  his 
hair  on  his  upper  lip  after  the  old  British  fashion ;  his  hair  reddish, 
but  in  his  latter  days  had  sprinkled  with  grey ;  his  nose  well-set,  but 
not  declining  or  bending,  and  his  mouth  moderately  large,  his  fore- 
head something  high,  and  his  habit  always  plain  and  modest.' 
Another  contemporary  writes:  'His  countenance  was  grave  and 
sedate,  and  did  so  to  the  life  discover  the  inward  frame  of  his  heart, 
that  it  was  convincing  to  the  beholders,  and  did  strike  something 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN   BUN  Y AN  421 

of  awe  into  them  that  had  nothing  of  the  fear  of  God.'  A  third 
thus  describes  his  manner  and  bearing:  'He  appeared  in  coun- 
tenance to  be  of  a  stern  and  rough  temper,  but  in  his  conversation 
mild  and  affable,  not  given  to  loquacity  or  much  discourse  in  com- 
pany, unless  some  urgent  occasion  required  it,  observing  never  to 
boast  of  himself  in  his  parts,  but  rather  seem  low  in  his  own  eyes, 
and  submit  himself  to  the  judgment  of  others.' 

The  works  left  in  manuscript  at  Bunyan's  death  were  given  to 
the  world  by  his  devoted  friend  and  admirer,  the  good,  simple- 
minded  combmaker  by  London  Bridge,  Charles  Doe,  who  soon 
after  his  decease  set  about  a  folio  edition  of  his  collected  works 
as  '  the  best  work  he  could  do  for  God.'  The  first  volume,  pub- 
lished in  1692,  contained  ten  of  these  posthumous  books,  most  of 
which  had  been  prepared  for  the  press  by  Bunyan  himself.  These 
were  followed  by  the  'Heavenly  Footman,'  one  of  the  most  char- 
acteristic of  Bunyan's  works,  published  by  Doe  in  1698,  and  by 
the  'Account  of  his  Imprisonment,'  that  invaluable  supplement 
to  his  biography,  which  was  not  given  to  the  world  till  1765.  Doe's 
second  intended  folio  was  never  published.  The  first  complete 
collected  edition  of  Bunyan's  works,  containing  twenty-seven  in 
addition  to  the  twenty  previously  published  by  Doe,  appeared  in 
1736,  edited  by  Samuel  Wilson  of  the  Barbican.  A  third  issue  of 
the  collected  works  was  published  in  two  volumes  folio  in  1767, 
with  a  preface  by  George  Whitefield.  Other  editions  of  the  whole 
works  are  that  by  Alexander  Hogg,  in  six  volumes  8vo,  in  1780; 
that  by  Mr.  G.  Off  or,  in  three  volumes  imperial  8vo,  in  1853, 
revised  in  1862 ;  and  that  by  the  Rev.  H.  Stebbing,  in  four  volumes 
imperial  8vo,  in  1859. 

The  following  is  a  list  of  Bunyan's  works,  arranged  in  chro- 
nological succession,  based  on  that  drawn  up  by  Charles  Doe  and 
annexed  to  the  first  issue  of  the  'Heavenly  Footman'  in  1698. 
The  full  titles  are  not  given,  which  in  some  cases  extend  to  ten  or 
a  dozen  lines:  i.  'Some  Gospel  Truths  opened,'  1656.  2.  'A 
Vindication  of  "  Some  Gospel  Truths  opened," '  same  year.  3.  '  A 
few  Sighs  from  Hell,  or  the  Groans  of  a  Damned  Soul,'  1658. 
4.  'The  Doctrine  of  the  Law  and  Grace  unfolded,'  1659.  All 
the  preceding  were  published  previous  to  his  imprisonment.  The 
first  book  written  by  him  in  prison  was  in  verse:  5.  'Profitable 


422  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

Meditations,  fitted  to  Man's  different  Conditions.  In  nine  par- 
ticulars' (no  date).  6.  'I  will  pray  with  the  Spirit  and  with  the 
Understanding  also,'  1663.  7.  'Christian  Behaviour;  being 
the  Fruits  of  True  Christianity,'  1663.  8,  9,  10.  'The  Four  Last 
Things,'  'Ebal  and  Gerizim,'  and  'Prison  Meditations.'  All 
in  verse,  and  published  in  one  volume.  The  date  of  the  first  edi- 
tion is  not  known,  n.  'The  Holy  City,'  1665.  12.  'The 
Resurrection  of  the  Dead  and  Eternal  Judgment,'  1665. 
13.  'Grace  abounding  to  the  Chief  of  Sinners,'  1666.  14.  ' De- 
fence of  the  Doctrine  of  Justification  by  Faith,' 1672.  15.  'Con- 
fession of  Faith,'  1672.  These  two  were  the  last  books  published 
by  him  in  prison.  His  release  was  speedily  followed  by: 
16.  'Difference  of  Judgment  about  Water  Baptism  no  Bar  to 
Communion,'  1673.  17.  'Peaceable  Principles  and  True'  (a 
rejoinder  to  attacks  on  the  preceding  work),  1674.  18.  'Repro- 
bation asserted,  or  the  Doctrine  of  Eternal  Election  promiscuously 
handled'  (no  date).  This  work,  though  accepted  by  Charles  Doe 
and  inserted  by  him  in  the  catalogue  of  Bunyan's  works,  and  in- 
cluded by  Hogg  and  Offor  in  their  collected  editions,  is  rejected 
by  Mr.  Brown  on  internal  evidence  of  style  and  substance,  but 
hardly  perhaps  on  sufficient  grounds.  19.  'Light  for  them  that 
sit  in  Darkness,'  1675.  20.  'Instruction  for  the  Ignorant,  or  a 
Salve  to  heal  that  great  want  of  knowledge  which  so  much  rtigns 
in  Old  and  Young,'  1675.  A  'Catechism  for  Children,'  written 
in  prison,  but  not  published  till  after  his  release.  21.  'Saved  by 
Grace,'  1675.  22.  'The  Strait  Gate,  or  the  great  Difficulty  of 
going  to  Heaven,'  1676.  This  is  an  expansion  of  a  sermon  on 
Luke  xiii.  24,  preached  by  Bunyan  after  his  release.  23.  'The 
Pilgrim's  Progress,'  1678.  Two  other  editions  with  large  addi- 
tions appeared  in  the  same  and  the  following  year,  evidencing  its 
rapid  popularity.  24.  'Come  and  welcome  to  Jesus  Christ,' 
1678.  The  expansion  of  a  sermon  on  John  vi.  37.  25.  'A 
Treatise  of  the  Fear  of  God,'  1679.  26.  'The  Life  and  Death 
of  Mr.  Badman,'  1680.  27.  'The  Holy  War,'  1682.  28.  'The 
Barren  Fig  Tree,  or  the  Doom  and  Downfall  of  the  Fruitless 
Professors,'  1682.  29.  'The  Greatness  of  the  Soul,'  1683. 
Originally  a  sermon  preached  at  Pinners'  Hall,  expanded.  30.  'A 
Case  of  Conscience  resolved,'  1683.  A  curious  little  tract  on  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN   BUN Y AN  423 

propriety  of  women  meeting  separately  for  prayer,  &c.,  l  without 
their  men.'     31.    'Seasonable    Counsel   or  Advice  to   Sufferers,' 

1684.  32.    'A  Holy   Life    the  Beauty   of    Christianity,'    1684. 
33.     'A    Caution    to    stir   up    to    Watch   against    Sin,'    1684. 
A    half-sheet  broadside    poem   in    sixteen    stanzas.    34.     '  The 
second    part    of    the     Pilgrim's    Progress,'   1684.      35.     Ques- 
tions   about    the    Nature    and     Perpetuity    of     the    Seventh- 
day  Sabbath,'   1685.      36.    'The    Pharisee  and  the    Publican,' 

1685.  37.    'A  Book  for  Boys  and  Girls,  or  Country  Rhymes  for 
Children,'  in  verse ;  or,  as  in  later  editions,  '  Divine  Emblems,  or 
Temporal    Things    spiritualised,'    1686.      38.    'The     Jerusalem 
Sinner  saved,   or   Good   News   for  the   Vilest   of   Men,'   1688. 
39.    'The  Work  of  Jesus  Christ  as  an  Advocate,'  1688.     40.  'Dis- 
course of   the  Building,  Nature,  Excellency,  and  Government  of 
the   House   of  God,'   1688.     A  poetical   composition  in  twelve 
divisions.     41.    'The  Water     of     Life,'    1688.     42.    'Solomon's 
Temple  spiritualised,  or  Gospel-light  fetcht  out  of  the  Temple 
at  Jerusalem,' in  seventy  particulars,  1688.     43.  '  The  Acceptable 
Sacrifice,  or  the    Excellency  of  a  Broken  Heart,'  the  proofs  of 
which  were  corrected  by  the  author  on  his  deathbed  and  published, 
with  a  preface,  after  his  decease  by  his  friend  George  Cokayn, 
21  Sept.  1688.     44.    His  'Last  Sermon,'  on  John  i.  13,  preached 
on  19  Aug.  1688,  two  days  before  he  sickened,  and  about  twelve 
days  before  his  death,  was  published  from  notes  shortly  after  his 
decease.      The  'Dying  Sayings,'   which    appeared  immediately 
after  his  death,  bears  internal  evidence  of   being  'a  compilation 
from  various  sources  made  in  haste  for  some  publisher  with  a 
shrewd  eye  to  business  and  trading  on  the  interest  attaching  to  Bun- 
yan's  name'  (BROWN).     Posthumous  publications.  —  Ten  of  these 
were  contained  in  the  folio  edition  of  1692,  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  the  press  by  Bunyan  himself :  45.    'An  Exposition  of  the 
Ten  first  Chapters  of  Genesis  and  part  of  the  Eleventh.'     A  frag- 
ment   of    an    intended    continuous    commentary  on    the    Holy 
Scriptures.       46.    'Justification    by    imputed      Righteousness.' 
47.    'Paul's  Departure  and  Crown,'  an  expansion  of  a  sermon  on 
2  Tim.  iv.  6-8.     48.    'Israel's  Hope  encouraged,'  a  discourse  on 
Ps.  cxxx.  7.    49.    'The  Desires  of  the  Righteous  granted,'  a  ser- 
mon on  Prov.  x.  24  and  xi.  23.  50.     'The  Saint's  Privilege  and 


424  EDMUND    V ENABLES 

Profit/  a  treatise  on  prayer  based  on  Heb.  iv.  16.  51.  'Christ  a 
Compleat  Saviour,'  a  discourse  on  the  intercession  of  Christ,  on 
Heb.  vii.  25.  52.  'The  Saint's  Knowledge  of  Christ's  Love/ 
an  exposition  of  St.  Paul's  prayer,  Ephes.  iii.  18-19.  53.  'The 
House  of  the  Forest  of  Lebanon,'  a  discourse  on  i  Kings  vii.  2, 
in  which  by  a  fanciful  and  baseless  analogy  he  makes  this  palace 
a  type  of  the  church  under  persecution.  54.  '  Antichrist  and  her 
Ruin,  and  the  Slaying  of  the  Witnesses,'  a  work  which  singularly 
enough  breathes  the  most  profound  loyalty  to  the  sovereign,  though 
that  sovereign  was  then  doing  all  in  his  power  to  establish  popery. 
To  these  ten  posthumous  works  must  be  added:  55.  'The 
Heavenly  Footman,'  a  discourse  on  i  Cor.  ix.  24,  bought  of  Bun- 
yan's  eldest  son,  John,  in  1691  by  Charles  Doe,  and  published  by 
him  in  1698.  56.  The  'Relation  of  his  Imprisonment,'  which 
was  not  given  to  the  world  till  1765,  a  hundred  years  after  it  was 
written  in  Bedford  gaol.  Neither  57.  'The  Christian  Dialogue,' 
nor  58.  'The  Pocket  Concordance,'  enumerated  by  Charles  Doe, 
'though  diligently  sought,'  has  been  discovered.  59.  The 
'  Scriptural  Poems,'  in  which  a  far  from  unsuccessful  attempt  has 
been  made  to  versify  the  histories  of  Joseph,  Samson,  Ruth,  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  the  Epistle  of  St.  James,  are  regarded 
as  spurious  by  Mr.  Brown  on  the  ground  that  they  were  unknown  to 
Charles  Doe  and  were  not  published  till  twelve  years  after  Bun- 
yan's  death,  and  then  by  one  Blare,  who  issued  other  certainly 
spurious  works  in  Bunyan's  name.  The  internal  evidence  he  also 
regards  as  unfavourable  to  their  genuineness :  'There  is  but  little 
to  remind  us  of  Bunyan's  special  verse.'  Mr.  Froude's  verdict 
on  this  point  is  altogether  different:  'The  "Book  of  Ruth"  and 
the  "History  of  Joseph"  done  into  blank  verse  are  really  beautiful 
idylls,  which  if  we  found  in  the  collected  works  of  a  poet  laureate 
we  should  consider  that  a  difficult  task  had  been  accomplished 
successfully,  and  the  original  grace  completely  preserved.' 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  RICHARD  STEELE  425 

THE  LIFE   OF   SIR   RICHARD   STEELE 

AUSTIN  DOBSON 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.} 

STEELE,  SIR  RICHARD  (1672-1729),  essayist,  dramatist,  and 
politician,  was  born  in  Dublin  in  March  1672  (N.S.),  and  was 
baptised  at  St.  Bridget's  Church  on  the  i2th  of  that  month.  He 
was  consequently  some  weeks  older  than  Joseph  Addison,  who 
was  born  on  i  May  following.  Steele's  father,  also  Richard 
Steele,  was  a  well-to-do  Dublin  attorney,  who  had  a  country 
house  at  Mountain  (Monkstown),  and  was  at  one  time  sub- 
sheriff  at  Tipperary.  He  married,  in  1670,  an  Irish  widow 
named  Elinor  Symes  (or  Sims),  born  Sheyles.  When  his  son 
was  'not  quite  five  years  of  age'  (Tatter,  No.  181),  the  elder 
Steele  died,  and  of  Mrs.  Steele  we  know  nothing  but  what  the 
same  authority  tells  us,  namely,  that  she  was  'a  very  beautiful 
woman,  of  a  noble  spirit.'  She  cannot  have  long  survived  her 
husband,  since  Steele  seems  to  have  passed  early  into  the  care  of 
an  uncle,  Henry  Gascoigne,  private  secretary  to  James  Butler, 
first  duke  of  Ormonde,  by  whose  influence  the  boy  in  November 
1684  obtained  a  nomination  to  the  Charterhouse,  of  which  the 
duke  was  a  governor.  Two  years  later  Addison  entered  the 
same  school,  and  a  lifelong  friendship  began  between  the  pair. 

In  November  1689  Steele  was  *  elected  to  the  university'  of 
Oxford,  whither  Addison  had  already  preceded  him.  On  13 
March  1690  he  matriculated  at  Christ  Church,  and  on  27  Aug. 
1691  he  became  a  postmaster  of  Merton,  his  college  tutor  being 
Dr.  Welbore  Ellis,  afterwards  mentioned  in  the  'Christian  Hero.' 
He  continued  his  friendship  with  Addison,  then  a  demy  at  Mag- 
dalen, and  appears  to  have  visited  him  in  his  home  at  Lichfield 
(Preface  to  the  Drummer,  1722,  and  Taller,  No.  235).  While  at 
college  he  enjoyed  some  reputation  as  a  scholar.  He  dabbled 
also  in  letters,  composing  a  comedy  which,  by  the  advice  of  a 
friend,  Mr.  Parker  of  Merton,  he  burned.  Then  suddenly,  in  1694, 
much  to  the  regret  of  'the  whole  Society,'  he  left  Merton  with- 
out taking  a  degree,  and  entered  the  army  as  a  cadet  or  gentle- 


426  AUSTIN   DOBSON 

man-volunteer  in  the  second  troop  of  life-guards,  at  that  time 
under  the  command  of  the  second  duke  of  Ormonde,  thereby 
losing,  as  he  tells  us  in  'The  Theatre,'  No.  n,  'the  succession  to 
a  very  good  estate  in  the  county  of  Wexford  in  Ireland.'  What 
this  estate  was  his  biographers  have  failed  to  discover,  although 
it  has  been  conjectured  that,  if  it  existed  at  all,  it  belonged  to  a 
relative  of  his  mother. 

On  28  Dec.  1694  Queen  Mary  died,  and  among  the  mourn- 
ing bards  who,  in  black-framed  folio,  celebrated  her  funeral  was 
Steele,  whose  verses,  described  as  '  by  a  Gentleman  of  the  Army,' 
and  entitled  'The  Procession,'  were,  doubtless  from  motives  of 
policy,  dedicated  to  John,  Lord  Cutts,  who  had  just  become 
colonel  of  the  2nd  or  Coldstream  regiment  of  foot-guards.  Lord 
Cutts  took  Steele  into  his  household,  and  in  1696-7  employed  him 
as  his  confidential  agent  or  secretary  (cf.  CARLETON,  Memoirs, 
1728,  ch.  iii.).  Ultimately  he  gave  him  a  standard  in  his  own 
regiment.  By  1700  Steele  is  referred  to  as  'Captain,'  and  there 
is  also  evidence  that  he  was  in  friendly  relations  with  Sedley, 
Congreve,  Vanbrugh,  Garth,  and  other  contemporary  wits.  In 
the  same  year  (16  June),  '  one  or  two  of  his  acquaintance'  hav- 
ing 'thought  fit  to  misuse  him  and  try  their  valour  upon  him' 
(Apology  for  himself  and  his  Writings,  1714,  p.  80),  he  fought  a 
duel  in  Hyde  Park  with  a  Captain  Kelly,  whom  he  wounded 
dangerously,  but  not  mortally  (LUTTRELL,  Diary,  iv.  657).  This 
occurrence  made  a  serious  impression  upon  him,  and  laid  the 
foundation  of  that  dislike  of  duelling  which  he  ever  afterwards 
exhibited.  In  all  probability  it  is  connected  with  his  next  liter- 
ary effort,  the  treatise  called  'The  Christian  Hero:  an  Argu- 
ment proving  that  no  Principles  but  those  of  Religion  are  suffi- 
cient to  make  a  great  Man.'  This  (which  was  also  dedicated 
to  Lord  Cutts)  was  published  by  Tonson  in  April  1701,  a  second 
and  enlarged  edition  following  on  19  July.  Steele's  own  account 
of  this  work  in  his  '  Apology,'  p.  80,  is  that,  finding  the  military 
life  'exposed  to  much  irregularity,'  he  wrote  it  'to  fix  upon  his 
own  mind  a  strong  impression  of  virtue  and  religion,  in  opposi- 
tion to  a  stronger  propensity  towards  unwarrantable  pleasures,' 
which  admission  has  probably  been  construed  too  literally  (cf. 
Biogr.  Brit.  1763,  vol.  vi.  pt.  i.  p.  3823).  '  The  Christian  Hero ' 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  RICHARD   STEELE  427 

was  at  first  designed  solely  for  his  private  use,  but  finding  '  that 
this  secret  admonition  was  too  weak,'  he  ultimately  'printed  the 
book  with  his  name,'  as  a  'standing  testimony  against  himself.' 
It  differs  considerably  both  in  style  and  teaching  from  the  ordi- 
nary devotional  manual,  and  without  much  straining  may  be 
said  to  exhibit  definite  indications  of  that  faculty  for  essay-writ- 
ing which  was  to  be  so  signally  developed  in  the  'Spectator,' 
in  which  indeed  certain  portions  of  it  were  afterwards  embodied. 
Upon  his  colleagues  at  the  Tower  Guard  (whence  its  Preface  is 
dated)  its  effect  was  what  might  have  been  anticipated.  *  From 
being  thought  no  undelightful  companion,  he  was  soon  reck- 
oned a  disagreeable  fellow.  .  .  .  Thus  he  found  himself  slighted, 
instead  of  being  encouraged,  for  his  declarations  as  to  Religion, 
and  it  was  now  incumbent  upon  him  to  enliven  his  character,  for 
which  reason  he  writ  the  comedy  called  "The  Funeral,"  in  which 
(tho'  full  of  incidents  that  move  laughter)  virtue  and  vice  appear 
as  they  ought  to  do'  (Apology,  p.  80). 

'The  Funeral;  or,  Grief-a-la-Mode,'  was  acted  at  Drury  Lane 
late  in  1701,  and  was  published  in  book  form  in  December  of  that 
year,  with  a  dedication  to  the  Countess  of  Albemarle.  The 
principal  parts  were  taken  by  Gibber,  Wilks,  and  Mrs.  Verbrug- 
gen,  and  the  championship  of  the  author's  military  friends  helped 
to  secure  its  success.  'With  some  particulars  enlarged  upon  to 
his  advantage'  (by  which  must  probably  be  understood  certain 
politic  references  to  William  III  in  the  'Christian  Hero'),  it  also 
obtained  for  him  the  notice  of  the  king.  '  His  [Steele's]  name,  to  be 
provided  for,  was  in  the  last  table-book  ever  worn  by  the  glorious 
and  immortal  William  the  Third'  (ib.  p.  81).  His  majesty,  how- 
ever, died  on  8  March  1702,  and  Steele's  fortunes  were  yet  to 
make.  In  the  preceding  month  he  had  become  a  captain  in  Lord 
Lucas's  newly  formed  regiment  of  foot  (AITKEN,  Life,  i.  79) ;  and 
in  December  1703  he  produced  at  Drury  Lane  a  second  comedy, 
'The  Lying  Lover;  or,  the  Ladies  Friendship,'  which  was  pub- 
lished on  26  Jan.  1704.  This  piece  was  based  upon  the  'Men- 
teur'  of  Corneille,  and  differed  from  its  predecessor,  'The  Fu- 
neral,' in  that  it  was  a  more  deliberate  attempt  to  carry  out  upon 
the  stage  those  precepts  which,  a  few  years  earlier,  Jeremy  Collier 
had  advocated  in  his  'Short  View  of  the  Profaneness  and  Im- 


428  AUSTIN   DOBSON 

morality  of  the  English  Stage.'  Among  other  things  it  contained 
an  indictment  of  duelling.  Upon  its  first  appearance  it  ran  but 
six  nights.  Its  author  described  it  years  afterwards  as  '  damned 
for  its  piety'  (Apology,  p.  48),  but  it  was  also  inferior  to  its  prede- 
cessor. Steele  nevertheless  set  to  work  upon  a  third  effort,  '  The 
Tender  Husband;  or,  the  Accomplished  Fools.'  This,  a  frank 
imitation  of  Moliere's  '  Sicilien,'  was  brought  out  at  Drury  Lane 
in  April  1705.  It  was  better  than  the  '  Lying  Lover,'  but  scarcely 
more  successful,  though  Addison  (now  back  from  Italy)  wrote 
its  prologue,  and  added  'many  applauded  [though  now  undis- 
tinguishable]  strokes'  to  the  piece  itself  (Spectator,  No.  555). 
In  May,  when  the  play  was  printed,  it  was  dedicated  to  Addison 
'as  no  improper  memorial  of  an  inviolable  friendship.' 

Soon  after  the  production  of  '  The  Tender  Husband,'  which, 
for  several  years,  closed  Steele's  career  as  a  playwright,  he  married. 
His  wife  (for  particulars  respecting  whom  we  are  indebted  to  the 
researches  of  Mr.  Aitken)  was  a  widow  named  Margaret  Stretch, 
nee  Ford,  the  possessor  of  more  or  less  extensive  estates  in  Bar- 
bados, which  she  had  inherited  from  a  brother  then  recently  dead. 
It  has  been  also  hinted  that  she  was  elderly,  and  that  her  fortune 
was  the  main  attraction  to  her  suitor,  whose  indefinite  means  had 
about  this  time  been  impaired  by  futile  researches  for  the  philoso- 
pher's stone  (New  Atalantis  and  Town  Talk,  No.  4).  The 
marriage  must  have  taken  place  not  long  after  March  1705,  when 
Mrs.  Stretch  took  out  letters  of  administration  to  her  West  Indian 
property,  which  is  said  to  have  been  worth  850^.  per  annum.  It 
was,  however,  encumbered  with  a  debt  of  3,ooo/.,  besides  legacies, 
&c.  In  December  1706  Mrs.  Steele  died,  and  Steele,  in  his  turn, 
administered  to  her  estate  in  January  1707.  During  the  brief 
period  of  his  married  life  —  in  August  1 706  —  he  had  become 
a  gentleman  waiter  to  Prince  George  of  Denmark  (salary  zoo/, 
yearly,  'not  subject  to  taxes'),  and  in  April  or  May  1707,  on  the 
recommendation  of  Arthur  Mainwaring,  he  was  appointed  by 
Harley  gazetteer,  at  a  further  annual  salary  of  300^.,  which  was, 
however,  liable  to  a  tax  of  457.  'The  writer  of  the  "Gazette" 
now,'  says  Hearne  in  May  1707,  'is  Captain  Steel,  who  is  the 
author  of  several  romantic  things,  and  is  accounted  an  ingenious 
man.'  Steele  seems  to  have  honestly  endeavoured  to  comply 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  RICHARD  STEELE  429 

with  'the  rule  observed  by  all  ministries,  to  keep  the  paper  very 
innocent  and  very  insipid'  (Apology,  p.  81) ;  but  the  rule  was  by 
no  means  an  easy  one  to  abide  by.  His  inclinations  still  leaned 
towards  the  stage.  Already,  in  March  1703,  he  had  received 
from  Rich  of  Drury  Lane  part  payment  for  an  unfinished  comedy 
called  'The  Election  of  Goatham'  (AITKEN,  i.  112),  a  subject 
also  essayed  by  Gay  and  Mrs.  Centlivre;  and  in  January  1707  he 
was  evidently  meditating  the  completion  of  this  or  some  other 
piece  when  his  wife's  death  interrupted  his  work  (Muses  Mercury, 
January  1707).  But  his  only  definite  literary  production  between 
May  1705  and  1707  was  a  'Prologue'  to  the  university  of  Oxford, 
published  in  July  1706. 

Before  he  had  held  the  post  of  gazetteer  many  months  he  mar- 
ried again.  The  lady,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  at  his 
first  wife's  funeral,  was  a  Miss,  or  Mistress,  Mary  Scurlock,  the 
daughter  and  heiress  of  Jonathan  Scurlock,  deceased,  of  Llangun- 
nor  in  Carmarthen,  and,  according  to  Mrs.  Manley  (New  Atalan- 
tis,  6th  ed.  vol.  iv.), '  a  cry'd  up  beauty.'  For  reasons  now  obscure, 
the  marriage  was  kept  a  secret,  but  it  is  supposed  to  have  taken 
place  on  9  Sept.  1707,  soon  after  which  time  Steele  set  up  house  in 
Bury  Street,  or  (as  his  letters  give  it)  'third  door,  right  hand, 
turning  out  of  Jermyn  Street.'  This  was  a  locality  described  by 
contemporary  advertisements  as  in  convenient  proximity  'to  St. 
James's  Church,  Chapel,  Park,  Palace,  Coffee  and  Chocolate 
Houses,'  and  was  obviously  within  easy  distance  of  the  court  and 
Steele's  office,  the  Cockpit  at  Whitehall.  Both  before  and  after 
marriage  Steele  kept  up  an  active  correspondence  with  his 
'Charmer'  and  'Inspirer,'  names  which,,  later  on,  are  ex- 
changed, not  inappropriately,  for 'Ruler'  and  'Absolute  Govern- 
ess.' Mrs.  Steele  preserved  all  her  husband's  letters,  over  four 
hundred  of  which  John  Nichols  the  antiquary  presented  in  1787 
to  the  British  Museum  (Add.  MSS.  5145,  A,  B,  and  C),  where 
they  afford  a  curious  and  an  instructive  study  to  the  inquirer. 
The  lady,  though  genuinely  attached  to  her  husband,  was  im- 
perious and  exacting;  the  gentleman  ardent  and  devoted,  but 
incurably  erratic  and  impulsive.  His  correspondence  reflects 
these  characteristics  in  all  their  variations,  and,  if  it  often  does 
credit  to  his  heart  and  understanding,  it  as  often  suggests  that 


430  AUSTIN   DOBSON 

his  easy  geniality  and  irregular  good  nature  must  have  made 
him  'gey  ill  to  live  with.'  It  was  a  part  of  his  sanguine  tempera- 
ment to  overestimate  his  means  (AiTKEN,  passim).  Hence  he 
is  perpetually  in  debt  and  difficulties  (he  borrowed  i,ooo/.  of 
Addison,  which  he  repaid;  letter  of  20  Aug.  1708);  hence 
always  (like  Gay)  on  the  alert  for  advancement.  In  October 
1708  the  death  of  Prince  George  deprived  him  of  his  post  as 
gentleman  waiter,  and,  though  he  had  previously  been  seeking 
an  appointment  as  usher  of  the  privy  chamber,  and  almost 
immediately  afterwards  tried  for  the  under-secretaryship  rendered 
vacant  by  Addison's  departure  for  Ireland  as  secretary  of  state  to 
Lord  Wharton,  the  lord-lieutenant,  he  was  successful  in  neither 
attempt.  All  these  things  were  but  unpromising  accompaniments 
to  a  chariot  and  pair  for  his  'dear  Prue,'  with  a  country  box  (in 
the  shadow  of  the  palace)  at  Hampton  Wick ;  and  it  seems  certain 
that  towards  the  close  of  1708  an  execution  for  arrears  of  rent 
was  put  into  the  Bury  Street  house.  In  the  following  March  his 
daughter  Elizabeth  was  born,  having  for  godfathers  Addison  and 
Wortley  Montagu.  A  month  later,  without  premonition  of  any 
kind,  Steele  inaugurated  his  career  as  an  essayist  by  establishing 
the'Tatler.' 

The  first  number  of  the  '  Tatler,'  a  single  folio  sheet,  was  issued 
on  12  April  1709,  and  it  came  out  three  times  a  week.  The  first 
four  numbers  were  given  away  gratis ;  after  this  the  price  was  a 
penny.  The  supposed  author" was  one  'Isaac  Bickerstaff,'  the 
pseudonym  borrowed  by  Swift  from  a  shopdoor  to  demolish  John 
Partridge  the  astrologer.  The  paper's  name,  said  Steele  ironi- 
cally, was  invented  in  honour  of  the  fair  sex  (No.  i),  and  it  pro- 
fessed in  general  to  treat,  as  its  motto  for  many  numbers  indi- 
cated, of  'Quicquid  agunt  homines,'  dating  its  accounts  of  gal- 
lantry, pleasure,  and  entertainment  from  White's  coffee-house, 
its  poetry  from  Will's,  its  learning  from  the  Grecian, and  its  foreign 
and  domestic  intelligence  (which  Steele  hoped  to  supplement  out 
of  his  own  official  gazette)  from  the  St.  James's.  Whatever  came 
under  none  of  these  heads  was  dated  from  '  My  own  apartment.' 
As  time  went  on  the  project  developed,  and  when  the  first  volume 
was  dedicated  to  Mainwaring  (who,  as  already  stated,  had  helped 
Steele  to  his  gazetteership),  it  was  already  claimed  for  the  new 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  RICHARD  STEELE  431 

venture  that  it  had  aimed  at '  exposing  the  false  arts  of  life,  pulling 
off  the  disguises  of  cunning,  vanity,  and  affectation,  and  recom- 
mending a  general  simplicity  in  our  dress,  our  discourse,  and  our 
behaviour'  (see  also  Taller,  No.  89).  In  this  larger  task  Steele 
was  no  doubt  aided  by  Addison,  who,  playing  but  an  inconspicuous 
part  in  the  first  volume  (his  earliest  contribution  was  to  No.  18), 
gave  very  substantial  aid  in  its  successors ;  and  from  a  hotch-pot 
of  news  and  town  gossip  the  '  Tatler '  became  a  collection  of  indi- 
vidual essays  on  social  and  general  topics.  In  the  preface  to  the 
fourth  and  final  volume,  Steele,  with  a  generosity  which  never 
failed  him,  rendered  grateful  testimony  to  his  anonymous  coad- 
jutor's assistance.  In  thanking  Addison  for  his  services  as  'a 
gentleman  who  will  be  nameless,'  he  goes  on  to  say:  'This  good 
office  [of  contributing]  he  performed  with  such  force  of  genius, 
humour,  wit,  and  learning,  that  I  fared  like  a  distressed  Prince 
who  calls  in  a  powerful  neighbour  to  his  aid ;  I  was  undone  by  my 
auxiliary;  when  I  had  once  called  him  in,  I  could  not  subsist 
without  dependence  on  him.' 

After  a  career,  prolonged  to  271  numbers,  about  188  of  which 
were  from  Steele's  own  pen,  the  'Tatler'  came  to  a  sudden  end  on 
2  Jan.  1711.  The  ostensible  reason  for  this  was  that  the  public 
had  penetrated  the  editor's  disguise,  and  that  the  edifying  pre- 
cepts of  the  fictitious  '  Mr.  Bickerstaff '  were  less  efficacious  when 
they  came  to  be  habitually  identified  in  the  public  mind  with  the 
fallible  personality  of  Steele  himself  (Tatler,  No.  271).  But  it  has 
been  shrewdly  surmised  that  there  were  other  and  more  pressing 
reasons  (which  Steele  also  hints  at)  for  its  abrupt  cessation.  In 
addition  to  his  office  of  gazetteer,  he  had  been  made  in  January 
1710  a  commissioner  of  stamps,  an  office  which  increased  his 
income  by  3oo/.  per  annum.  When  in  August  of  the  same  year 
Harley  became  head  of  the  government,  certain  papers  satirising 
him  had  recently  made  their  appearance  in  the  'Tatler;'  and  in 
the  following  October  Steele  lost  his  gazetteership.  That  he  was 
not  deprived  of  his  commissionership  of  stamps  as  well  has  been 
ascribed  to  the  intervention  of  Swift,  whose  friends  were  in  power 
(Journal  to  Stella,  15  Dec.  1710),  and  with  this  forbearance  of  the 
ministry  the  termination  of  the  'Tatler'  is  also  supposed  to  be 
obscurely  connected.  '  What  I  find  is  the  least  excusable  part  of 


432  AUSTIN   DOBSON 

this  work,'  says  Steele  in  the  final  number  quoted  above,  'is  that 
I  have  in  some  places  in  it  touched  upon  matters  which  concern 
both  the  church  and  state.'  But  however  this  may  be,  the  '  Tatler ' 
was  not  long  without  a  successor.  Two  months  later  (i  March) 
began  the  'Spectator,'  professing  in  its  first  number  'an  exact 
neutrality  between  the  whigs  and  tories,'  and  setting  in  motion 
almost  from  the  first  that  famous  club  of  which  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  is  the  most  prominent  member.  The  first  sketch  (in 
No.  2)  of  this  immortal  friendly  gathering  was  undoubtedly  due 
to  Steele's  inventive  alertness.  But  Addison,  working  at  leisure 
upon  his  friend's  rapid  and  hasty  outline,  gradually  filled  in  the 
features  of  the  figure  whose  fortunes  to-day  constitute  the  chief 
interest  of  the  periodical.  Diversified  in  addition  by  the  critical 
essays  of  Addison  and  the  domestic  sketches  of  Steele,  the  *  Spec- 
tator' proceeded  with  unabated  vivacity  to  its  five  hundred  and 
fifty-fifth  number  and  seventh  volume,  surviving  even  that  baleful 
Stamp  Act  of  August  1712  (10  Anne,  cap.  19)  which  nipped  so 
many  of  its  contemporaries.  Out  of  the  whole  of  the  papers 
Addison  wrote  274  and  Steele  236.  As  before,  no  satisfactory 
explanation  is  forthcoming  for  the  termination  of  the  enterprise, 
the  success  of  which  is  admitted.  Towards  the  end  of  its  career, 
the  'Spectator'  was  selling  ten  thousand  per  week,  and  Steele 
himself  says  that  the  first  four  volumes  had  obtained  it  a  further 
sale  of  nine  thousand  copies  in  book  form  (No.  555).  What  is 
clear  is  that  Addison's  assistance  was  still  anonymous,  and  Steele's 
gratitude  to  him  as  strong  as  ever.  'I  am  indeed,'  he  wrote, 
'  much  more  proud  of  his  long-continued  friendship  than  I  should 
be  of  the  fame  of  being  thought  the  author  of  any  writings  he  is 
capable  of  producing.  ...  I  heartily  wish  that  what  I  have  done 
here  were  as  honorary  to  that  sacred  name  [of  friendship]  as  learn- 
ing, wit,  and  humanity  render  those  pieces  which  I  have  taught  the 
reader  now  to  distinguish  for  his'  —  i.e.  by  the  letters  C,  L,  I,  O. 
During  the  progress  of  the  'Spectator,'  Steele  had  made  his 
first  definite  plunge  as  a  politician  by  '  The  Englishman's  Thanks 
to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.'  This  appeared  in  January  1712, 
just  after  the  duke  had  been  deprived  of  all  his  offices,  a  catas- 
trophe which  also  prompted  Swift's  opposition  'Fable  of  Midas.' 
There  were  other  signs  of  political  disquiet  in  some  of  Steele's  sub- 


THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  RICHARD  STEELE  433 

sequent  contributions  to  the  'Spectator'  ('he  has  been  mighty 
impertinent  of  late,'  wrote  Swift  to  Stella  in  July  1712);  and 
although  in  the  new  periodical,  which  he  began  in  March  1713, 
he  made  profession  of  abstinence  from  matters  of  state,  only  seven 
days  before  he  had  put  forth  a  'Letter  to  Sir  Miles  Wharton  con- 
cerning Occasional  Peers.'  In  the  'Guardian'  he  philosophi- 
:ally  declared  himself  to  be,  with  regard  to  government  of  the 
:hurch,  a  tory ;  and  with  regard  to  the  state,  a  whig.  But  he  was, 
Johnson's  phrase,  '  too  hot  for  neutral  topics ; '  and  before  the 
middle  of  1713  he  was  actively  embroiled  with  the  'Examiner,' 
the  casus  belli  being  an  attack  that  tory  paper  (behind  which  was 
the  formidable  figure  of  Swift)  had  made  in  its  No.  41  upon  Lord 
Nottingham's  daughter,  Lady  Charlotte  Finch,  the  Nottinghams 
having  deserted  to  the  whigs.  On  4  June  he  resigned  his  com- 
missionership  of  stamps,  and  his  pension  as  Prince  George's 
gentleman-in-waiting,  and  entered  the  lists  of  faction  with  an 
indictment  of  the  government  upon  the  vexed  question  of  the 
postponed  demolition,  under  the  treaty  of  Utrecht,  of  the  Dunkirk 
fortifications.  'The  British  nation,'  he  declared,  'expects  the 
demolition  of  Dunkirk'  (Guardian,  No.  128).  The  'Examiner' 
retorted  by  charging  him  with  disloyalty.  Steele  rejoined  (22 
Sept.)  by  a  pamphlet  entitled  'The  Importance  of  Dunkirk  con- 
sider'd,'  addressed  to  the  bailiff  of  Stockbridge,  Hampshire,  for 
which  town  in  August  he  had  been  elected  M.  P.  Swift  answered 
by  a  bitterly  contemptuous  'Importance  of  the  Guardian  con- 
sider'd.'  Before  this  came  out,  however,  on  31  Oct.  the  'Guard- 
ian' had  been  dead  for  a  month,  and  had  been  succeeded  on  6  Oct. 
by  the  'Englishman,'  'a  sequel'  of  freer  political  scope. 

By  this  time  Steele  was  in  the  thick  of  party  strife.  In  Novem- 
a  scurrilous  'Character'  of  him  'by  Toby  Abel's  kinsman* 
(i.e.  Edward  King,  nephew  of  Abel  Roper  of  the  'Postboy')  was 

sued  by  some  of  Swift's  'under  spur-leathers,'  and  early  in 
[anuary  1714  Swift  himself  followed  suit  with  a  paraphrase  of 
[orace  (ii.  i),  in  which  it  was  suggested  that  when  he  (Steele) 
lad  settled  the  affairs  of  Europe,  he  might  find  time  to  finish 
lis  long-threatened  (but  unidentified)  play.  Shortly  afterwards 
(19  Jan.)  Steele  put  forth  another  widely  circulated  pamphlet, 
'The  Crisis,'  in  which,  aided  by  the  counsels  of  Addison,  Hoadly, 

2F 


434  AUSTIN    DOBSON 

William  Moore  of  the  Inner  Temple,  and  others,  he  reviewed  the 
whole  question  of  the  Hanoverian  succession.  Swift  was  promptly 
in  the  field  (23  Feb.)  with  the  'Public  Spirit  of  the  Whigs,'  one  of 
his  most  masterly  efforts  in  this  way;  and  when  Steele  took  his 
seat  in  parliament  he  found  that  his  doom  was  sealed,  and  on  12 
March  he  was  formally  accused  of  uttering  seditious  libels. 
Supported  by  Walpole,  Addison,  General  Stanhope,  and  others 
of  his  party,  he  spoke  in  his  own  defence  for  some  three  hours, 
and  spoke  well;  but  what  he  afterwards  called,  with  pardonable 
energy,  'the  insolent  and  unmanly  sanction  of  a  majority'  (Apology, 
p.  xvi)  prevailed,  and  on  18  March  1714  he  was  expelled  the  House 
of  Commons. 

In  these  circumstances  he  turned  once  more  to  his  proper  vo- 
cation—  letters.  Even  at  the  end  of  1714  he  had  contrived  to 
issue  a  volume  of  'Poetical  Miscellanies,'  dedicated  to  Congreve, 
and  numbering  Pope,  Gay,  and  Parnell  among  its  contributors. 
In  this  he  reprinted  his  own  'Procession'  of  1695.  The  short- 
lived 'Englishman'  came  to  an  end  in  February  1714,  and  was 
immediately  succeeded  by  the  'Lover'  (25  Feb.).  In  April  came 
the  'Reader.'  Both  of  these  were  dropped  in  May.  In  No.  6 
of  the  latter  Steele  announced  that  he  was  preparing  a  'History 
of  the  War  in  Flanders,'  a  subject  for  which  he  was  not  without 
qualifications.  But  the  project  came  to  nothing.  He  produced, 
however,  several  pamphlets:  the  'Romish  Ecclesiastical  History 
of  late  Years'  (25  May),  a  'Letter  concerning  the  Bill  for  pre- 
venting the  Growth  of  Schism'  (3  June),  and  another  on  Dunkirk 
(2  July).  Then,  on  i  Aug.,  Queen  Anne  died.  On  18  Sept. 
George  I  landed  at  Greenwich,  and  the  tide  turned.  The  cham- 
pion of  the  Hanoverian  succession  was  speedily  appointed  J.  P., 
deputy-lieutenant  for  the  county  of  Middlesex,  and  surveyor  of 
the  royal  stables  at  Hampton  Court.  What  was  better  still  (and 
more  definitely  lucrative),  he  obtained  the  position  of  supervisor 
of  the  Theatre  Royal  of  Drury  Lane,  the  license  of  which  had 
expired  with  the  queen's  death.  The  license  was  shortly  after- 
wards converted  into  a  patent,  and  Steele  in  this  manner  came 
into  receipt  of  i,ooo/.  per  annum. 

Henceforward  his  life  grows  more  and  more  barren  of  notable 
incident.  In  the  same  month  in  which  his  honours  came  upon 


THE   LIFE  OF  SIR   RICHARD   STEELE  435 

him  he  published  the  compilation  known  as  'The  Ladies'  Library,' 
volume  iii.  of  which  was  dedicated,  with  much  grace  and  tender- 
ness, to  his  wife.  He  also  vindicated  his  past  proceedings  with 
considerable  spirit  in  the  pamphlet  entitled  '  Mr.  Steele's  Apology 
for  himself  and  his  Writings'  (22  Oct.),  citations  from  which  have 
already  been  made.  On  2  Feb.  1715  he  was  elected  M.  P.  for 
Boroughbridge,  Yorkshire,  and  two  months  later  (8  April)  the 
presentation  of  an  address  to  the  king  procured  him  a  knighthood. 
During  the  next  few  years  he  continued  as  of  old  to  busy  himself 
with  projects,  literary  and  otherwise.  He  established  in  Villiers 
Street,  York  Buildings,  Strand,  a  kind  of  periodical  conversazione 
called  the  'Censorium,'  which  he  inaugurated  on  his  majesty's 
birthday  (28  May)  by  a  grand  banquet  and  entertainment,  to 
which  Tickell  supplied  the  prologue  and  Addison  the  epilogue 
(Town  Talk,  No.  4).  He  wrote  another  overgrown  pamphlet  on 
the  Roman  catholic  religion  (13  May),  began  a  new  volume  of 
the  'Englishman'  (n  July  to  21  Nov.),  and  established  and  aban- 
doned three  more  periodicals,  'Town  Talk'  (17  Dec.),  'The  Tea- 
Table'  (2  Feb.  1716),  and  'Chit  Chat'  (6  March).  In  June  he 
was  appointed  one  of  the  thirteen  commissioners  for  forfeited 
estates  in  Scotland,  the  salary  being  i,ooo/.  per  annum.  Two 
years  later,  in  June  1718,  he  obtained  a  patent  for  a  project  called 
the  'Fish  pool,'  a  plan  (which  proved  unsuccessful)  for  bringing 
salmon  alive  from  Ireland  in  a  well-boat.  Then,  in  December 
1718,  he  lost  his  'dear  and  honoured  wife.'  Lady  Steele  died  on 
the  26th,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Early  in  the 
succeeding  year  Steele's  evil  star  involved  him  in  a  painful  con- 
troversy with  his  lifelong  friend  Addison.  He  started  a  periodical 
called  the  'Plebeian'  (14  March)  to  denounce  Lord  Sunderland's 
bill  for  limiting  the  power  of  creating  new  peers.  Addison 
replied  acrimoniously  in  the  'Old  Whig,'  and,  what  was  worse, 
died  so  soon  afterwards  (17  June)  that  the  breach  thus  created 
was  never  healed,  while  Steele's  opposition  to  the  measure  (which 
was  dropped)  led  indirectly  to  the  withdrawal  by  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle  in  January  1720  of  the  Drury  Lane  patent.  With 
this  last  occurrence  is  connected  the  establishment  of  another, 
and  perhaps  the  most  interesting,  of  his  later  periodical  efforts, 
as  it  was  also  the  last,  'The  Theatre'  (2  Jan.  to  April  1720). 


436  AUSTIN   DOBSON 

His  next  publications  were  two  pamphlets,  '  The  Crisis  of  Prop- 
erty' (i  Feb.)  and  its  sequel  'A  Nation  a  Family'  (27  Feb.), 
in  which  he  warmly  combated  the  South  Sea  mania.  In  1721 
his  former  ally,  Walpole,  became  chancellor  of  the  exchequer,  and 
the  Drury  Lane  patent  was  restored  (2  May).  In  December  of 
the  same  year  he  published  a  second  edition  of  Addison's  '  Drum- 
mer,5 in  the  preface  to  which,  addressed  to  Congreve,  he  vindi- 
cated himself  against  the  aspersions  cast  upon  him  in  the  edition 
of  Addison's  works,  which  Tickell  had  put  forth  in  the  preceding 
October.  In  March  1722  he  became  member  for  Wendover, 
Buckinghamshire.  Then,  in  November  of  the  same  year,  he 
produced  at  Drury  Lane  his  last  comedy,  'The  Conscious  Lovers/ 
which,  notwithstanding  that  (in  Parson  Adams's  words)  it  con- 
tained 'some  things  almost  solemn  enough  for  a  sermon,'  proved 
a  hit,  and  brought  its  writer  five  hundred  guineas  from  George  I, 
to  whom  it  was  dedicated.  Its  groundwork  was  the  'Andria' 
of  Terence,  and  it  attacked  duelling.  Besides  the  'Conscious 
Lovers,'  Steele  began,  but  did  not  finish,  two  other  pieces,  'The 
School  of  Action'  and  'The  Gentleman,'  fragments  of  which  were 
printed  by  Nichols  in  1809.  Lawsuits  and  money  difficulties 
thickened  upon  him  in  his  later  days,  and  in  1724,  in  pursuance 
of  an  honourable  arrangement  with  his  creditors,  and  not,  as 
Swift  wrote,  'from  perils  of  a  hundred  gaols,'  he  retired  first  to 
Hereford,  and  finally  to  Carmarthen,  where  he  lived  chiefly  at 
Tygwyn,  a  farmhouse  overlooking  the  Towy.  In  Victor's  '  Origi- 
nal Letters'  (1776,  i.  330)  there  is  a  pretty  picture  of  his  still 
unabated  kindliness  of  nature.  Broken  and  paralytic,  he  is  shown 
delightedly  watching  from  his  invalid's  chair  the  country  folk  at 
their  sports  on  a  summer  evening,  and  writing  an  order  upon  his 
agent  for  a  prize  of  a  new  gown  to  the  best  dancer.  He  died  at  a 
house  in  King  Street,  Carmarthen,  on  i  Sept.  1729,  aged  58,  and 
was  buried  in  St.  Peter's  Church,  where  in  1876  a  mural  tablet 
was  erected  to  him.  There  is  also  an  earlier  memorial  to  him  at 
his  old  estate  of  Llangunnor.  Two  only  of  his  four  children 
survived  him:  Mary,  who  died  in  the  year  following  his  death; 
and  Elizabeth,  the  eldest  daughter,  who  ultimately  married  a 
Welsh  judge  (afterwards  the  third  Lord  Trevor  of  Bromham). 
His  two  sons,  Richard  and  Eugene,  died  in  1716  and  1723  re- 


THE   LIFE   OF  SIR   RICHARD   STEELE  43^ 

spectively.  He  had  also  a  natural  daughter,  known  as  Miss 
Ousley,  who  married  a  Welsh  gentleman  named  Stynston.  About 
1718  it  seems  to  have  been  proposed  to  marry  her  to  Richard 
Savage  the  poet. 

There  are  three  principal  portraits  of  Steele,  all  mentioned  by 
himself  (Theatre,  No.  2)  in  answer  to  an  attack  made  upon  him 
by  John  Dennis  the  critic.  The  first,  by  Jonathan  Richardson, 
now  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  was  executed  in  1712,  and 
gives  us  the  Steele  of  the  'Spectator.'  It  was  engraved  in  the 
following  year  by  J.  Smith,  and  later  by  Bartolozzi  and  Meadows. 
The  second,  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  was  painted  shortly  after- 
wards for  the  Kit-Cat  Club  (of  which  Steele  was  among  the  earlier 
members),  and  exhibits  him  in  one  of  the  fine  full-bottomed  black 
periwigs  he  wore  when  he  rode  abroad  (DRAKE,  Essays,  1814,  i. 
179).  This  belongs  to  Mr.  Baker  of  Bayfordbury,  and  has  been 
engraved  by  Vertue,  Simon,  Faber,  Houbraken,  and  others.  The 
third,  by  Thornhill,  is  at  Cobham  Hall,  and  was  reproduced  in 
copper  by  Vertue  in  1713,  and  by  James  Basire.  In  this  Steele 
appears  in  a  dressing-gown  and  a  tasselled  cap.  The  Richard- 
son, he  tells  us,  makes  him  'indolent,'  the  Kneller  'resolute,'  the 
Thornhill  'thoughtful.'  There  is  another  reputed  Kneller  at 
Stationers'  Hall ;  and  there  is  said  to  be  a  portrait  of  him  when 
he  was  a  commissioner  in  Scotland,  by  Michael  Dahl.  The 
Thornhill  is  the  best  known;  the  Kneller  Kit-Cat  is  probably  the 
best  likeness.  Sir  Godfrey  also  executed  a  picture  of  Lady  Steele, 
which  does  full  justice  to  her  good  looks.  It  belongs  to  Mrs. 
Thomas  of  Moreb,  Llandilo,  Carmarthenshire,  and  figures  as 
the  frontispiece  to  vol.  ii.  of  Mr.  Aitken's  'Life.' 

As  regards  the  written  portraits  of  his  character,  Macaulay  in 
his  famous  essay  on  Addison  sought  by  deeply  drawn  lines  to 
heighten  the  contrast  between  Steele  and  his  colleague.  Thack- 
eray softened  the  asperity  of  the  likeness  in  his  lecture  (in  the 
'  English  Humourists ') .  Forster's  vindicatory  study  in  the  '  Quar- 
terly'  is  not  entirely  sympathetic.  That  Steele  was  an  undetected 
hypocrite  and  a  sentimental  debauchee  is  now  no  longer  main- 
tained, although  it  cannot  be  denied  that  his  will  was  often  weaker 
than  his  purpose;  that  he  was  constitutionally  improvident  and 
impecunious;  and  that,  like  many  of  his  contemporaries  in  that 


438  AUSTIN  DOBSON 

hard-drinking  century,  he  was  far  too  easily  seduced  by  his  com- 
pliant good-fellowship  into  excess  in  wine.  '  I  shall  not  carry  my 
humility  so  far  as  to  call  myself  a  vicious  man,'  he  wrote  in  '  Tat- 
ler'  No.  271,  *  but  must  confess  my  life  is  at  best  but  pardonable.' 
When  so  much  is  admitted,  it  is  needless  to  charge  the  picture, 
though  it  may  be  added  that,  with  all  his  faults,  allowed  and 
imputed,  there  is  abundant  evidence  to  prove  that  he  was  not 
only  a  doting  husband  and  an  affectionate  father,  but  also  a  loyal 
friend  and  an  earnest  and  unselfish  patriot.  As  a  literary  man 
his  claim  upon  posterity  is  readily  stated.  As  a  poet  —  even  in 
that  indulgent  age  of  Anne  —  he  cannot  be  classed ;  as  a  pam- 
phleteer he  is  plain-spoken  and  well-meaning,  but  straggling  and 
ineffectual ;  as  a  dramatist,  despite  his  shrewd  perceptive  faculty 
and  his  laudable  desire  to  purify  the  stage,  his  success  is  no  more 
than  respectable.  In  the  brief  species  of  essay,  however,  which  he 
originated  and  developed  —  the  essay  of  the  'Tatler'  and  its 
immediate  successors  —  he  is  at  home.  Without  ranking  as  a 
great  stylist  —  his  hand  was  too  hasty  for  laboured  form  or  finish, 
and  he  claimed  and  freely  used  the  license  of  '  common  speech '  — 
he  was  a  master  of  that  unembarrassed  manner  which  (it  has  been 
well  said)  is  the  outcome  of  an  unembarrassed  matter.  He  writes, 
as  a  rule,  less  from  his  head  than  from  his  heart,  to  the  warmth  of 
which  organ  his  rapid  pen  gives  eager  and  emphatic  expression. 
His  humour  is  delightfully  kindly  and  genial,  his  sympathies  quick- 
springing  and  compassionate,  his  instincts  uniformly  on  the  side 
of  what  is  generous,  honest,  manly,  and  of  good  report.  '  He  had 
a  love  and  reverence  of  virtue,' said  Pope;  and  many  of  his  lay 
sermons  are  unrivalled  in  their  kind.  As  the  first  painter  of 
domesticity  the  modern  novel  owes  him  much,  but  the  women  of 
his  own  day  owe  him  more.  Not  only  did  be  pay  them  collec- 
tively a  magnificent  compliment  when  he  wrote  of  Lady  Elizabeth 
Hastings,  that  'to  love  her  was  a  liberal  education'  (Taller,  No. 
49) ;  but  in  a  time  when  they  were  treated  by  the  wits  with  con- 
temptuous flattery  or  cynical  irreverence,  he  sought  to  offer  them 
a  reasonable  service  of  genuine  respect  which  was  immeasurably 
superior  to  those  'fulsome  raptures,  guilty  impressions,  senseless 
deifications  and  pretended  deaths'  with  which  (as  he  himself  wrote 
in  '•The  Christian  Hero')  it  was  the  custom  of  his  contemporaries 
to  insult  their  understandings. 


THE   LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  439 

THE   LIFE   OF   DR.   SAMUEL   JOHNSON 

SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

JOHNSON,  SAMUEL  (1709-1784),  lexicographer,  son  of  Michael 
Johnson,  bookseller  at  Lichfield,  by  his  wife  Sarah  (Ford),  was 
born  at  Lichfield  on  18  Sept.  (N.S.)  1709,  and  was  baptised  17  Sept. 
(i.e.  28  Sept.  N.S.),  according  to  the  parish  register  (Gent.  Mag. 
October  1829 ;  cf .  A.  L.  READE'S  The  Reades  of  Blackwood  Hill 
.  .  .  with  account  of  Dr.  Johnson's  ancestry,  1906).  The  father, 
born  in  1656,  remembered  the  publication  of  *  Absalom  and  Achito- 
pheF  in  1681  (JOHNSON,  Life  of  Dry  den).  He  transmitted  to  his 
son  a  powerful  frame  and  'a  vile  melancholy/  Besides  keep- 
ing his  shop  (now  preserved  as  a  public  memorial)  at  Lichfield 
he  sold  books  occasionally  at  Birmingham,  at  Uttoxeter,  and  at 
Ashby-de-la-Zouch.  He  was  churchwarden  in  1688,  sheriff  of 
Lichfield  (then  a  county)  in  1709,  junior  bailiff  in  1718,  and  senior 
bailiff  in  1725.  As  became  a  bookseller  in  a  cathedral  town,  he 
was  a  high  churchman,  and  something  of  a  Jacobite.  Unbusiness- 
like habits  or  a  speculation  in  the  'manufacture  of  parchment' 
brought  him  into  difficulties.  His  wife,  born  in  1669  at  King's 
Norton,  Worcestershire,  is  described  as  '  descendant  of  an  ancient 
race  of  yeomanry  in  Warwickshire.'  They  married  on  9  June 
1706  (ib.  ii.  384),  and  had,  besides  Samuel,  a  son  Nathanael, 
born  in  1712,  who  died  in  1737. 

Strange  stories  were  told  of  Samuel's  precocity.  It  is  said  that 
before  he  was  three  years  old  he  insisted  upon  going  to  church  to 
hear  Sacheverell  preach  (BOSWELL,  Life,  by  Hill,  i.  39).  His 
father  was  foolishly  proud  of  him,  and  passed  off  an  epitaph  on 
'  Good  Master  Duck,'  really  written  by  himself,  as  Samuel's  com- 
position at  the  age  of  three.  The  child .  suffered  from  scrofula, 
which  disfigured  his  face  and  injured  or  destroyed  the  sight  of 
one  eye.  He  was  'touched'  by  Queen  Anne,  and  he  retained  a 
vague  recollection  of  a  '  lady  in  diamonds  and  a  long  black  hood ' 
(Piozzi,  Anecdotes,  p.  10).  He  learnt  his  letters  at  a  dame-school 
under  one  Jane  Brown,  who  published  a  spelling-book,  and  *  dedi- 


440  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

cated  it  to  the  Universe,'  which,  however,  has  preserved  no  copies. 
He  next  learnt  Latin  in  Lichfield  school.  After  two  years  he  was 
under  the  head-master,  Hunter,  who  was  a  brutal  but  efficient 
teacher.  Johnson  afterwards  valued  the  birch  as  a  less  demoral- 
ising incentive  than  emulation.  His  force  of  mind  and  character 
already  secured  respect,  and  three  of  his  school-fellows  used  regu- 
larly to  carry  him  to  school.  One  of  them,  named  Hector,  survived 
to  give  information  to  Boswell.  He  was  indolent  and  unwieldy, 
unable  to  join  in  games,  and  'immoderately  fond'  of  reading  the 
old  romances,  a  taste  which  he  retained  through  life.  In  the 
autumn  of  1725  (HAWKINS)  he  visited  an  uncle,  Cornelius  Ford,  a 
clergyman,  who  wasted  considerable  ability  by  convivial  habits 
(JOHNSON,  Life  of  Fentori).  Ford  was  struck  by  the  lad's  talents, 
and  kept  him  till  the  next  Whitsuntide.  He  was  then  excluded 
from  the  Lichfield  school,  and  sent,  by  Ford's  ad  vice,  to  a  school  at 
Stourbridge  under  a  Mr.  'Wentworth,  whom  he  is  also  said  to  have 
assisted  in  teaching.  After  a  year  he  returned  home,  and  spent 
two  years  in  'lounging.'  It  was  at  this  time  probably  that  he 
refused,  out  of  pride,  to  attend  his  father  to  Uttoxeter  market. 
On  the  same  day  some  fifty  years  later  he  performed  penance  for 
this  offence  by  visiting  Uttoxeter  market  and  standing  bareheaded 
for  an  hour  in  the  rain  on  the  site  of  his  father's  bookstall  (BOSWELL, 
iv.  373;  R.  WARNER,  Tour  through  the  Northern  Counties;  for 
some  slight  discrepancies  in  these  statements  see  Notes  and  Queries, 
6th  ser.  xi.  1,91, 193).  He  read  a  great  deal  in  a  desultory  fashion, 
and  said  afterwards  (BOSWELL,  Letters,  p.  34)  that  he  knew  as 
much  at  eighteen  as  he  did  at  fifty-two.  He  had  written  verses, 
of  which  Boswell  gives  specimens  (one  of  them  inserted  in  the 
Gent.  Mag.  for  1743,  p.  378),  and  had  no  doubt  made  a  reputation 
among  his  father's  customers  at  Lichfield.  A  'neighbouring 
gentleman,  Mr.  Andrew  Corbet,'  according  to  Hawkins  (p.  9), 
offered  to  send  Johnson  to  Oxford  to  read  with  his  son,  who  had 
entered  Pembroke  College  in  1727.  Johnson  was  entered  as  a 
commoner  on  31  Oct.  1728.  According  to  Hawkins  a  disagree- 
ment with  Corbet  followed,  and  Johnson's  supplies  from  this 
source  were  stopped  after  a  time.  The  dates,  however,  are  con- 
fused. Hawkins  and  Boswell  say  that  Johnson  remained  three 
years  at  Oxford.  The  college  books  show  him  to  have  resided 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  441 

continuously  till  12  Dec.  1729,  after  which  he  only  resided  for  a  few 
brief  periods,  and  his  name  was  removed  on  8  Oct.  1731  (see 
appendix  to  HILL'S  Dr.  Johnson,  his  Friends  and  his  Critics). 
Johnson's  tutor  was  a  Mr.  Jorden.  He  despised  Jorden's  lectures, 
though  he  respected  the  kindliness  of  the  lecturer.  Johnson  seems 
to  have  surprised  the  college  authorities  by  the  extent  of  his  reading, 
and  a  Latin  translation  of  Pope's  '  Messiah,'  performed  as  a  Christ- 
mas exercise,  spread  his  reputation  in  the  university,  and  was 
printed  in  1731  in  an  Oxford  'Miscellany'  brought  out  by 
J.  Husbands,  a  fellow  of  Pembroke.  Pope,  to  whom  it  was  shown 
by  George,  son  of  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  is  said  to  have  paid  it  a  high 
compliment  (HAWKINS,  p.  13).  Johnson  was  said  by  William 
Adams  (1706-1789)  [q.  v.],  who  succeeded  Jorden  as  tutor,  to  have 
been  a  'gay  and  frolicsome  fellow,'  and  generally  popular  at 
Oxford.  Johnson  told  Boswell,  upon  hearing  this,  that  he  was 
only  'mad  and  violent.'  He  was  *  miserably  poor,'  meant  to 
'fight  his  way  by  his  literature  and  wit,  and  so  disregarded  all 
authority.'  He  was  occasionally  insubordinate  (BOSWELL,  i.  59, 
271),  but  amenable  to  kindness.  He  suffered  from  hypochondria, 
of  which  (ib.  p.  63)  he  had  a  violent  attack  at  Lichfield  during  the 
vacation  of  1729.  He  frequently,  says  Boswell,  walked  from 
Lichfield  to  Birmingham  and  back  in  order  to  overcome  his  melan- 
choly by  violent  exertion.  He  wrote  an  account  of  his  case  in 
Latin,  and  laid  it  before  his  godfather,  Dr.  Swinfen,  who  was  so 
much  struck  by  its  ability  that,  to  Johnson's  lasting  offence,  he 
showed  it  to  several  friends.  While  at  Oxford  he  took  up  the 
'Serious  Call'  of  William  Law  [q.  v.],  by  which  he  was  profoundly 
affected.  He  had  previously  fallen  into  indifference  to  religious 
matters,  and  was  even  'a  lax  talker  against  religion.'  From 
this  time  his  religious  sentiments  were  always  strong,  though  he 
continued  to  reproach  himself  with  carelessness  in  practice.  His 
poverty  exposed  him  to  vexations.  His  schoolfellow,  John  Taylor, 
afterwards  J.  Taylor  of  Ashbourne,  proposed  to  become  his  com- 
panion at  Pembroke,  but  upon  Johnson's  advice  went  to  Christ 
Church  to  be  under  a  Mr.  Bateman,  regarded  as  the  best  tutor 
at  Oxford.  Johnson  used  to  get  Bateman's  lectures  from  Taylor, 
till  he  observed  that  the  Christ  Church  men  laughed  at  his  worn- 
out  shoes.  Some  one  placed  a  new  pair  of  shoes  at  his  door, 


442  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

when  he  'threw  them  away  with  indignation.'  Johnson  read 
Greek  and  '  metaphysics  J  at  Oxford  in  his  usual  desultory  fash- 
ion, and,  in  spite  of  his  sufferings,  retained  a  warm  regard  for 
his  college  and  the  university. 

Johnson's  poverty  no  doubt  caused  his  premature  departure. 
He  returned  at  the  end  of  1729  to  Lichfield,  where  his  father  died 
in  December  1731.  The  father  was  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy, 
though  not  actually  bankrupt.  Johnson  in  July  1732  received* 
2o/.  from  the  estate,  all  that  he  could  expect  until  his  mother's 
death,  and  had  therefore  to  'make  his  own  fortune'  (Diary, 
quoted  by  BOSWELL,  i.  80).  He  had  some  friends  at  Lichfield, 
especially  Dr.  Swinfen,  Garrick's  father,  and  Gilbert  Walmsley, 
whom  he  describes  with  warm  gratitude  in  the  'Life  of  Edmund 
Smith.'  He  also  was  on  friendly  terms  with  Miss  Hill  Boothby 
[q.  v.],  to  whom  he  wrote  affectionate  letters  in  her  last  illness  (first 
published  in  Piozzi's  Letters),  and  with  Miss  'Molly  Aston,' 
the  loveliest  creature  he  ever  saw  (BOSWELL,  i.  83 ;  PIOZZI,  A  need. 
p.  157).  He  now  tried  for  some  scholastic  employment,  though  the 
dates  are  rather  confused,  and  was  (probably  in  the  first  part  of 
1732)  usher  at  Market  Bosworth  school.  On  30  Oct.  1731  he 
describes  himself  as  'still  unemployed,'  having  failed  in  an  appli- 
cation for  an  ushership  at  his  old  school  at  Stourbridge.  On 
1 6  July  (apparently  1732)  he  says  that  he  walked  to  Market 
Bosworth  (BOSWELL,  i.  84-5),  and  on  27  July  he  had  recently  left 
the  house  of  Sir  Wolstan  Dixie,  the  patron  of  the  Bosworth  school. 
He  can  hardly  have  been  usher,  as  Hawkins  says,  under  Anthony 
Blackwall  [q.  v.],  who  died  8  April  1730.  His  life  at  Bosworth, 
whatever  the  date,  was  miserable.  Dixie,  to  whom  he  acted  as 
chaplain,  treated  him  harshly,  and  he  always  spoke  of  the  monoto- 
nous drudgery  with  'the  strongest  aversion,  and  even  a  degree  of 
horror.'  A  letter  from  Addenbrooke,  dean  of  Lichfield,  recom- 
mending him  for  a  tutorship  about  this  time,  is  given  in  'Notes 
and  Queries,'  6th  ser.  x.  421.  He  gave  up  the  place  after  a  few 
months,  and  went  to  live  with  an  old  schoolfellow,  Hector,  who  was 
boarding  at  Birmingham  with  a  Mr.  Warren,  the  chief  bookseller 
of  the  place  and  publisher  of  the  'Birmingham  Journal.'  John- 
son is  said  to  have  contributed  to  this  paper,  besides  giving  other 
help  to  Warren.  He  translated  Lobo's  'Voyage  to  Abyssinia/ 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  443 

for  which  Warren  gave  him  five  guineas.  It  was  published  in  1735. 
About  1734  he  returned  to  Lichfield,  and  there  made  proposals 
for  publishing  Politian's  Latin  poems,  with  notes  and  a  life. 
He  addressed  a  letter  to  Edward  Cave  [q.  v.]  from  Birmingham, 
dated  25  Nov.  1734,  proposing  to  write  a  'literary  article'  for  the 
'Gentleman's  Magazine.' 

Johnson  had  been  introduced  by  Hector  to  a  Henry  Porter,  a 
mercer  at  Birmingham.  He  was  brother-in-law  of  Johnson's 
old  master,  Hunter  (NICHOLS,  Lit.  Illustr.  vii.  363).  Porter  was 
buried  on  3  Aug.  1734,  leaving  a  widow  (born  4  Feb.  1688-9), 
whose  maiden  name  was  Jarvis,  with  a  daughter,  Lucy  (baptised 
8  Nov.  1715),  and  two  sons.  Miss  Seward  told  Boswell  that  John- 
son had  been  in  love  with  the  daughter,  whom  she  identified  as 
the  object  of  some  verses  written  by  him  at  Stourbridge.  Hector 
emphatically  denied  this  (see  controversy  in  Gent.  Mag.  vols.  liii. 
and  liv.,  partly  reprinted  in  NICHOLS'S  Lit.  Illustr.  vii.  321-64). 
After  Porter's  death  Johnson  married  Mrs.  Porter,  9  July  1735. 
It  was,  as  he  told  Beauclerk,  'a  love  marriage  on  both  sides,' 
and,  though  outsiders  mocked,  the  strength  of  Johnson's  affection 
was  unsurpassable.  Though  his  face  was  scarred,  his  'huge 
structure  of  bones  .  .  .  hideously  striking,  his  head  wigless,  his 
gesticulations  grotesque,'  Mrs.  Porter  at  once  recognised  him  as 
the  'most  sensible  man'  she  had  ever  seen.  She  was  twenty 
years  his  senior.  Her  appearance  is  chiefly  known  from  Garrick's 
comic  descriptions  to  Boswell  and  Mrs.  Piozzi.  She  was,  he  told 
Boswell,  fat,  with  red  painted  cheeks,  fantastic  dress,  and  affected 
manners.  Mrs.  Piozzi,  however,  to  whom  he  described  her  as 
a  'little  painted  puppet,'  saw  a  picture  of  her  at  Lichfield,  'very 
pretty,'  and,  according  to  her  daughter,  'very  like.'  The  pair 
rode  from  Birmingham  to  be  married  at  St.  Werburgh's  Church, 
Derby,  and  on  the  way  Johnson  showed  his  bride,  by  refusing  to 
alter  his  pace  at  her  bidding,  that  he  would  not  be  treated  like  a 
dog,  which  she  had  learnt  from  'the  old  romances'  to  be  the  cor- 
rect mode  of  behaving  to  lovers.  The  author  of  '  Memoirs  .  .  . 
of  Johnson '  (1785)  says  that  she  brought  him  jool.  or  8oo/.,  and 
Mr.  Timmins  ('  Dr.  Johnson  in  Birmingham,'  from  Transactions 
of  Midland  Institute,  1876)  shows  that  she  had  ioo/.  in  the  hands 
of  an  attorney.  Mrs.  Johnson's  small  fortune  probably  enabled 


444  SIR   LESLIE   STEPHEN 

him  to  take  a  house  at  Edial,  near  Lichfield,  where,  as  an  advertise- 
ment announced  in  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine'  for  1736,  'young 
gentlemen  are  boarded  and  taught  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages 
by  Samuel  Johnson.'  Johnson's  impatience,  irregular  habits, 
and  uncouth  appearance  were  hardly  likely  to  conciliate  either 
parent  or  pupils.  Objections  to  these  peculiarities  prevented  him 
from  obtaining  the  mastership  of  Solihull  school  in  August  1735, 
and  an  ushership  at  Brewood  school  in  1736  (Notes  and  Queries, 
6th  ser.  x.  465;  NICHOLS,  Lit.  Anecd.  iii.  333).  According  to 
Boswell  his  only  boys  at  Edial  were  'David  and  George  Garrick 
and  one  other.'  Hawkins  says  that  the  number  'never  exceeded 
eight.'  The  school  collapsed,  and  Johnson  resolved  to  try  his 
fortunes  in  London.  He  left  Lichfield  on  3  March  1737,  in  com- 
pany with  Garrick  —  Johnson,  as  he  said  jokingly,  having  two- 
pence halfpenny  in  his  pocket,  and  Garrick  three  halfpence  in  his. 
The  pair  had  also  a  letter  from  Walmsley  to  John  Colson  [q.  v.], 
then  master  of  a  school  at  Rochester.  Walmsley  expected  that 
Johnson  would  turn  out  'a  fine  tragedy-writer.'  He  had  written 
three  acts  of  'Irene'  at  Edial.  Johnson  left  his  wife  at  Lichfield, 
lodged  at  a  staymaker's  in  Exeter  Street,  Strand,  occasionally 
retiring  to  Greenwich,  and  lived  with  the  utmost  economy  and 
temperance.  A  friend  told  him  that  he  could  live  for  30^.  a  year 
without  being  contemptible.  He  found  a  patron,  it  seems,  in 
Henry  Hervey,  third  son  of  the  Earl  of  Bristol,  who  had  been  in  a 
regiment  quartered  at  Lichfield.  Hervey,  as  he  said  to  Boswell 
in  his  last  years,  'though  a  vicious  man,  was  very  kind  to  me.  If 
you  call  a  dog  Hervey  I  shall  love  him.'  Johnson,  however,  had  to 
gain  independence  by  literary  work.  The  profession  of  authorship 
was  beginning  to  be  a  recognised,  though  still  a  very  unprofitable, 
pursuit.  Cave's  foundation  of  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine'  in 
1731  had  opened  new  prospects  of  employment,  and  Johnson  now 
applied  to  Cave  (12  July)  proposing  a  new  translation  of  the  'His- 
tory of  the  Council  of  Trent.'  He  returned  in  the  summer  to 
Lichfield,  where  he  finished  '  Irene'  (he  afterwards  gave  the  manu- 
script to  Langton,  who  presented  it  to  the  King's  Library,  now  in 
the  British  Museum),  and,  after  three  months'  stay,  returned  with 
his  wife  to  London,  leaving  Lucy  Porter  at  Lichfield,  and  took 
lodgings  in  Woodstock  Street,  Hanover  Square,  and  afterwards 


THE   LIFE   OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  445 

in  Castle  Street,  Cavendish  Square.  Lucy  Porter  lodged  with 
Johnson's  mother  at  Lichfield  till  her  fortieth  year,  when  the  death 
of  a  brother  improved  her  means,  and  she  lived  at  Lichfield  till 
her  death,  13  Jan.  1786.  Johnson  was  always  indulgent  to  her, 
allowed  her  to  scold  him  'like  a  schoolboy,  and  kept  up  constant 
communications  with  her  till  his  death'  (SEWARD,  Letters,  i.  116). 
He  offered  'Irene,'  without  success,  to  Fleetwood,  patentee  of 
Drury  Lane.  In  March  1738  a  Latin  ode  by  him  to  'Sylvanus 
Urban'  appeared  in  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine,'  and  he  soon 
became  a  regular  contributor.  He  beheld  St.  John's  Gate,  the 
printing-office  of  the  magazine,  'with  reverence.'  He  still  had 
illusions  about  authors.  Hawkins  (p.  49)  tells  of  his  introduction 
by  Cave  to  an  ale-house  where  he  could  see  the  great  Mr.  Browne 
smoking  a  pipe.  Malone  (BOSWELL,  i.  63)  gives  a  similar  account 
of  his  dining  behind  a  screen  at  Cave's  to  hear  Walter  Harte's 
[q.  v.]  conversation  without  exposing  his  shabbiness.  If  Harte, 
as  is  said,  praised  the  life  of  Savage,  this  was  as  late  as  1744. 
Johnson's  employment  upon  the  parliamentary  debates  began 
about  1738,  when  they  were  given,  with  fictitious  names,  as  debates 
in  the  'Senate  of  Lilliput.'  They  were  written  by  William 
Guthrie  (1708-1770)  [q.  v.],  and  only  corrected  by  Johnson  at  this 
period  (ib.  i.  136).  He  wrote  those  published  in  the  'Magazine' 
from  July  1741  to  March  1744.  The  debates  were  often  delayed 
till  some  time  after  the  session,  in  order  to  avoid  a  breach  of  privi- 
lege, and  the  last  report  by  Johnson  was  of  a  debate  on  22  Feb. 
T743-  Johnson  was  never  in  the  gallery  himself,  but  had  some 
assistance  from  persons  employed  by  Cave.  Some  of  the  debates, 
however,  were  'the  mere  coinage  of  his  own  imagination'  (ib.  iv. 
409).  They  evidently  bear  a  very  faint  resemblance  to  the  real 
debates,  as  Mr.  Birkbeck  Hill  shows  by  a  comparison  with  Seeker's 
notes.  In  fact  it  is  not  conceivable  that  all  the  speakers  confined 
themselves  to  sonorous  generalities  in  the  true  Johnsonian  style. 
At  the  time,  however,  they  were  often  regarded  as  genuine,  and 
Johnson  near  his  death  (ib.)  expressed  some  compunction  for  the 
deception.  Murphy  describes  a  dinner  at  Foote's  when  Johnson 
claimed  a  speech  attributed  to  Pitt  and  compared  by  the  elder 
Francis  to  Demosthenes.  He  took  care,  he  added,  that  the  'whig 
dogs  should  not  have  the  best  of  it.'  One  debate  was  translated 


446  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

into  French,  German,  and  Spanish,  as  was  stated  in  the  'Maga- 
zine7 for  February  1743;  and  Johnson's  immediate  cessation  is 
plausibly  regarded  by  Mr.  Hill  as  a  confirmation  of  his  statement 
to  Boswell  that  he  stopped  reporting  because  he  'would  not  be 
accessory  to  the  propagation  of  falsehood'  (ib.  i.  152;  see  a  full 
discussion  by  Mr.  Birkbeck  Hill,  BOSWELL,  i.  App.  A.).  In  May 
1738  Johnson  published  'London,'  in  imitation  of  the  third  satire 
of  'Juvenal.'  It  was  offered  to  Cave,  who  seems  to  have  received 
it  favourably,  but  was  finally  published  by  Dodsley,  who  gave 
ten  guineas  for  the  copyright.  Johnson  was  determined  not  to  take 
less  than  had  been  given  to  Paul  Whitehead,  whom  he  despised. 
Though  Boswell  denies  it,  the  'Thales'  of  the  poem  may  perhaps 
refer  to  Savage  (see  Mr.  Hill's  note  on  BOSWELL,  i.  125).  It  ap- 
peared on  the  same  day  as  Pope's  'Epilogue,'  originally  called 
'1738,'  and  reached  a  second  edition  in  a  week.  Though  without 
the  consummate  polish  of  the  'Epilogue,'  one  of  Pope's  most 
finished  pieces,  it  showed  a  masculine  force  of  thought,  which 
caused  the  unknown  writer  to  be  welcomed  as  a  worthy  follower 
of  the  chief  poet  of  the  day.  Many  passages  expressed  the  pa- 
triotic sentiment  which  then  stimulated  the  growing  opposition 
to  Walpole,  both  among  tories  and  malcontent  whigs.  Pope 
himself  inquired  the  author's  name,  and  hearing  his  obscurity  said, 
'He  will  soon  be  deterred  Johnson,  however,  was  still  poor 
enough  to  apply  in  1739  for  the  mastership  of  a  school  at  Appleby. 
The  salary  was  6ol.  a  year,  and  it  was  required  that  masters  should 
have  the  degree  of  M.A.  Pope,  knowing  nothing  of  Johnson,  it  is 
said,  but  his  satire,  recommended  him  to  Lord  Gower,  probably 
as  having  interest  with  the  trustees ;  and  Gower  wrote  to  a  friend 
of  Swift  (i  May  1739)  in  order  to  obtain  a  M.A.  degree  from 
Dublin.  Johnson,  as  Gower  reported,  would  rather  die  upon  the 
road  to  an  examination  (if  required)  'than  be  starved  to  death  in 
translating  for  booksellers,  which  has  been  his  only  subsistence 
for  some  time  past.'  The  application  failed,  and  the  want  of  a 
degree  was  also  fatal  to  an  application  made  by  Johnson  for  leave 
to  practise  as  an  advocate  at  Doctors'  Commons. 

Cave  meanwhile  had  accepted  his  proposed  translation  of  Father 
Paul's  history,  and  in  1738-9  he  received  49/.  js.  on  account  of 
work  done  upon  it;  but  it  fell  through  in  consequence  of  a  project 


THE  LIFE   OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  447 

for  a  translation  of  the  same  book  by  another  Samuel  Johnson- 
In  the  '  Gentleman's  Magazine'  of  1739  he  wrote  a  'Life  of  Father 
Paul,'  and  continued  to  contribute  various  small  articles.  A  squib 
against  Walpole,  called  'Marmor  Norfolciense,'  April  1739, 
was  not  very  lively,  and  seems  to  have  failed,  though  Hawkins 
tells  a  story  (contradicted  by  Boswell)  that  warrants  were  issued 
against  the  author.  Pope  refers  to  it  as  'very  Humerous'  in  a 
note  sent  to  Richardson  the  painter,  with  'London,'  in  which  he 
says  that  Johnson's  convulsive  infirmities  made  him  'a  sad  spec- 
tacle.' In  1742  Johnson  was  employed  by  Thomas  Osborne, 
a  bookseller,  to  catalogue  the  library  of  Edward  Harley,  second 
earl  of  Oxford  [q.  v.].  Osborne,  treating  Johnson  with  insolence, 
was  knocked  down  for  his  pains.  'I  have  beat  many  a  fellow,' 
as  Johnson  told  Mrs.  Piozzi,  'but  the  rest  had  the  wit  to  hold  their 
tongues'  (BOSWELL,  i.  154;  PIOZZI,  Anecd.  p.  233).  A  folio 
Septuagint  of  1594  was  shown  at  a  bookseller's  shop  in  1812  as  the 
weapon  with  which  the  deed  was  performed  (NICHOLS,  Lit.  A  need. 
viii.  446).  Except  his  contributions  to  the  'Magazine,'  and  a 
letter  (i  Dec.  1743)  in  which  he  takes  upon  himself  a  debt  owed 
by  his  mother,  little  is  preserved  about  Johnson  till  in  February 
1744  his  very  powerful  life  of  Savage  (who  died  i  Aug.  1743) 
was  published  by  one  Roberts.  The  book  was  written  with  great 
rapidity,  forty-eight  octavo  pages  at  a  sitting.  It  gives  a  striking 
account  of  miseries  in  which  Johnson  was  himself  a  sharer.  Sav- 
age and  Johnson  had  passed  nights  in  roaming  the  streets  without 
money  to  pay  for  a  lodging,  and  on  one  such  occasion  passed  the 
time  in  denouncing  Walpole,  and  resolved  to  'stand  by  their 
country.'  It  seems  possible  that  for  a  time  Johnson  had  to  part 
from  his  wife,  who  may  have  found  a  refuge  with  friends  (BOSWELL, 
i.  163;  HAWKINS,  pp.  53  sq.),  though  Hawkins  kindly  suggests 
that  Johnson's  'irregularities'  were  the  cause  of  the  temporary 
separation. 

A  period  follows  of  such  obscurity  that  Croker  ventured  the  ab- 
surd hypothesis  that  Johnson  was  in  some  way  implicated  in  the 
rebellion  of  1745.  A  pamphlet  of  observations  upon  'Macbeth,' 
with  remarks  upon  Hanmer's  edition  of  Shakespeare  and  pro- 
posals for  a  new  edition  by  himself,  was  published  in  1745. 
Warburton  two  years  later,  in  the  preface  to  his  own  'Shake- 


448  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

speare,'  excepted  Johnson's  remarks  from  a  sweeping  con- 
demnation of  other  critics,  as  written  by  a  'man  of  parts  and 
genius,'  and  Johnson  was  grateful  for  praise  given  'when  praise 
was  of  value.'  Warburton  met  Johnson  once  (BOSWELL,  iv.  48), 
and  was  so  pleased  as  to  'pat  him.'  He  afterwards  told  Hurd, 
however,  that  Johnson's  'Shakespeare'  showed  'as  much  folly 
as  malignity'  (Letters  to  Hurd,  p.  367).  Johnson  was  deterred 
by  Warburton's  edition,  or  diverted  by  a  new  undertaking,  from 
attempting  'Shakespeare'  at  present.  In  1747  he  issued  the  plan 
of  his  dictionary,  inscribed  to  Lord  Chesterfield.  The  inscription, 
as  Johnson  said,  was  the  accidental  result  of  his  agreeing,  at  Dods- 
ley's  request,  to  write  it  in  order  to  have  a  pretext  for  delay. 
The  wording  implies,  however,  that  some  communication  had 
passed  between  them.  The  booksellers  who  undertook  the  enter- 
prise (including  Dodsley,  Millar,  and  the  Longmans)  agreed  to 
pay  i,575/.  for  the  copyright.  The  payment  included  the  whole 
work  of  preparing  for  the  press;  and  Johnson  lost  2o/.  on  one 
occasion  for  a  transcription  of  some  leaves  which  had  been  written 
on  both  sides.  He  employed  six  amanuenses,  five  of  whom,  as 
Boswell  is  glad  to  record,  were  Scotsmen.  From  a  letter  published 
by  Mr.  Hill  (BOSWELL,  vi.  xxxv)  it  appears  that  they  received  235. 
a  week,  which  he  agreed  to  raise  to  2/.  2s. ,  not,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
out  of  the  i,575/.  To  all  of  them  he  afterwards  showed  kindness 
when  in  distress.  He  began  (HAWKINS,  p.  175)  by  having  an 
interleaved  copy  of  the  dictionary  of  Nathan  Bailey  [q.  v.],  then 
the  most  in  use.  He  read  through  all  the  books  to  be  quoted, 
marked  the  sentences,  and  had  them  transcribed  by  his  clerks 
on  separate  slips  of  paper.  After  they  had  been  arranged  he  added 
definitions  and  etymologies  from  Skinner,  Junius,  and  others. 
The  work  was  done  in  a  house  in  Gough  Square,  near  the  printers, 
which  was  visited  by  Carlyle  and  described  in  his  article  on  John- 
son. While  the  dictionary  was  still  in  preparation  Johnson  pub- 
lished his  'Vanity  of  Human  Wishes'  in  January  1749.  He 
received  fifteen  guineas  for  the  copyright.  In  this  and  subsequent 
agreements  he  reserved  a  right  to  print  one  edition  for  himself. 
This  the  finest  of  his  poems  was  profoundly  admired  by  Byron 
and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  is  scarcely  rivalled  in  the  language  in  its 
peculiar  style  of  grave  moral  eloquence.  He  said  that  he  had  com- 


THE  LIFE   OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  449 

posed  seventy  lines  of  it  in  one  day  before  writing  them  down. 
Garrick  had  become  manager  of  Drury  Lane  in  1747,  when  John- 
son contributed  the  opening  prologue.  Garrick  now  offered  to 
bring  out  his  friend's  tragedy.  Some  alterations  which  he  sug- 
gested were  so  resented  by  the  author  that  Dr.  Taylor  had  to  be 
called  in  as  pacificator.  'Irene'  was  produced  on  6  Feb.  1749, 
with  an  epilogue  by  Sir  W.  Yonge,  secretary-at-war  under  Walpole. 
It  went  off  tolerably  till  Irene  (Mrs.  Pritchard)  appeared  with  the 
bowstring  round  her  neck,  when  the  audience  cried  *  Murder  ! '  The 
scene  was  altered,  and  Garrick  managed  to  carry  the  piece  through 
nine  nights,  when  the  author's  three  nights  brought  him  195^.  175., 
and  the  copyright  was  sold  to  Dodsley  for  lool.  The  play, 
however,  was  felt  to  be  a  failure,  and  Johnson  had  the  sense  to  dis- 
cover that  his  talents  were  not  those  of  a  dramatic  author.  The 
only  explanation,  indeed,  of  his  rash  attempt  is  that  the  drama 
was  still  the  most  profitable  field  of  authorship,  and  Johnson  was 
better  paid  for  his  play  than  for  his  other  writing.  When  asked 
how  he  felt  its  ill-success  he  replied,  'Like  the  monument.'  He 
is  reported  to  have  appeared  in  a  side-box  in  a  scarlet  waistcoat  with 
rich  gold  lace  and  a  gold-laced  hat. 

In  1750  Johnson  began  a  more  congenial  task  by  writing 
the  'Rambler.'  The  first  number  appeared  on  Tuesday,  20 
March  1750,  and  it  came  out  every  Tuesday  and  Saturday  till  the 
last  number,  published  on  Saturday,  14  March  1752.  Johnson 
wrote  the  whole,  except  No.  10,  partly  by  Mrs.  Chapone,  No. 
30  by  Miss  Catherine  Talbot,  No.  97  by  Samuel  Richardson,  and 
Nos.  44  and  100  by  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Carter.  Johnson  received  two 
guineas  a  paper  (MURPHY,  1806,  p.  59).  The  papers  were  written 
in  great  haste,  but  carefully  revised  for  the  collected  editions. 
Chalmers  says,  on  the  authority  of  Nichols  the  publisher,  that 
there  were  six  thousand  corrections  in  the  second  and  third  edi- 
tions. The  'Rambler'  attracted  little  notice  at  first,  although 
the  author  was  gratified  by  his  wife's  declaration  that  he  had  sur- 
passed even  her  expectations.  The  sale  is  said  to  have  rarely 
exceeded  five  hundred;  the  only  one  which  had  a  'prosperous 
sale'  being  Richardson's  (CHALMERS,  British  Essayists,  xix.  xiv, 
xxvi).  As  the  price  was  twopence,  the  profits  cannot  have  been 
large.  When  collected,  however,  the  papers  acquired  a  high  repu- 

2G 


450  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

tation,  and  ten  editions  (1,250  copies  each)  were  published  in 
London  during  Johnson's  lifetime,  besides  Scottish  and  Irish 
editions.  James  Elphinston  [q.  v.]  superintended  the  publication 
at  Edinburgh.  The  'Rambler'  had  probably  a  more  lasting 
success  than  any  other  imitation  of  the  '  Spectator,'  though  its 
rare  modern  readers  will  generally  consider  it  as  a  proof  of  the 
amazing  appetite  of  Johnson's  public  for  solid  sermonising.  Omit- 
ting its  clumsy  attempts  at  occasional  levity,  it  may  be  granted  that 
in  its  ponderous  sentences  lie  buried  a  great  mass  of  strong  sense 
and  an  impressive  and  characteristic  view  of  life.  From  this  time 
Johnson  became  accepted  as  an  imposing  moralist. 

In  1750  Johnson  wrote  a  prologue  for  'Comus,'  which  was  per- 
formed on  5  April  at  Drury  Lane  for  the  benefit  of  Milton's  grand- 
daughter. He  had  written  a  preface  to  the  pamphlet  in  which 
William  Lauder  (d.  1771)  [q.  v.]  published  his  forgeries  as  to 
Milton's  alleged  imitations  of  the  moderns,  and  in  it  urged  a  sub- 
scription for  the  benefit  of  the  granddaughter.  Upon  the  exposure 
of  the  forgery  by  Douglas,  Johnson  dictated  a  letter  of  confession 
to  Lauder. 

The  'Rambler'  was  hardly  finished  when  Johnson  lost  his 
wife,  17  March  1752.  He  felt  the  blow  with  extreme  keenness, 
and  ever  afterwards  cherished  her  memory  with  a  tenderness 
which  appears  from  many  touching  references  in  his  'Prayers 
and  Meditations.'  Compunction  for  little  disagreements  was  no 
doubt  exaggerated  by  his  melancholy  temperament.  She  was 
buried  at  Bromley  in  Kent,  and  he  wrote  a  sermon  to  be  delivered 
by  Taylor  on  the  occasion.  It  was  not  preached,  but  printed  after 
his  death.  Taylor  is  said  (Piozzi,  Letters,  ii.  384)  to  have  declined 
because  the  sermon  was  too  complimentary  to  the  deceased. 

In  1753-4  Johnson  wrdte  some  papers  in  the  'Adventurer,' 
undertaken  by  his  friend  and  closest  imitator,  Hawkesworth,  and 
enlisted  Joseph  Warton  as  a  contributor.  The  dictionary  was  now 
approaching  completion,  and  produced  a  famous  encounter  with 
Chesterfield.  A  story  told  by  Hawkins,  that  the  first  offence  was 
caused  by  Chesterfield's  reception  of  Colley  Gibber,  while  Johnson 
was  left  in  the  antechamber,  was  denied  to  Boswell  by  Johnson 
himself.  His  only  complaint  was  Chesterfield's  continued  neglect. 
Chesterfield  now  wrote  a  couple  of  papers  in  the  '  World '  (28  Nov. 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  451 

and  5  Dec.  1754),  recommending  the  book,  no  doubt  with  a  view 
to  a  dedication.  Johnson  wrote  a  letter,  dated  7  Feb.  1755, 
repelling  this  advance  with  singular  dignity  and  energy.  He  felt 
bound,  it  seems,  to  preserve  some  reticence  in  regard  to  his  letter, 
but  ultimately  gave  copies  to  Baretti  and  to  Boswell.  Boswell 
deposited  both  in  the  British  Museum.  Johnson  says  that  the 
notice  has  been  delayed  'till  I  am  indifferent  and  cannot  enjoy  it, 
till  I  am  lonely  and  cannot  impart  it,  till  I  am  known  and  do  not 
want  it.'  Warburton  complimented  Johnson,  through  Adams, 
upon  his  manly  spirit.  Chesterfield  was  wise  enough  not  to  reply, 
but  suggested,  in  conversation  with  Dodsley,  that  he  had  always 
been  ready  to  receive  Johnson,  whose  pride  or  shyness  was  there- 
fore to  be  blamed  for  the  result.  Dr.  Birkbeck  Hill  proves  that 
Chesterfield  did  not,  as  Boswell  believed,  refer  to  Johnson  as  the 
'respectable  Hottentot'  of  his  letters  (Dr.  Johnson,  &c.,  pp.  214- 
29).  Johnson  said  that  he  had  once  received  io/.  from  Chester- 
field, doubtless  in  recognition  of  the  'plan'  inscribed  to  him,  but 
thought  it  too  trifling  a  favour  to  be  mentioned  in  the  letter.  The 
letter  justifies  itself,  and  no  author  can  fail  to  sympathise  with  this 
declaration  of  literary  independence.  Hawkins  (p.  191)  says  that 
Chesterfield  sent  Sir  Thomas  Robinson  to  apologise,  and  that 
Robinson  declared  that,  if  he  could  have  afforded  it,  he  would  have 
settled  an  annuity  of  5oo/.  a  year  upon  Johnson.  Johnson  replied 
•that  if  the  first  peer  of  the  realm  made  such  an  offer  he  would  show 
him  downstairs. 

In  1754  Johnson  visited  Oxford  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
ceased  to  reside,  in  order  to  consult  some  books  for  the  dictionary, 
although  he  seems  to  have  in  fact  collected  nothing,  and  stayed 
five  weeks  at  Kettel  Hall,  near  Trinity  College.  His  chief  com- 
panion was  Thomas  Warton,  then  resident  at  Trinity,  in  whose 
company  he  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  the  university.  War- 
ton  also  helped  to  obtain  for  him  the  M.A.  degree.  It  was  thought 
desirable  that  these  letters  should  appear  on  the  title-page  of  the 
dictionary  for  the  credit  both  of  himself  and  the  university.  The 
official  letter  from  the  chancellor  referred  to  the  'Rambler'  and 
to  the  forthcoming  work.  The  diploma  is  dated  20  Feb.  1755. 
The  dictionary  appeared,  in  2  vols.  folio,  on  15  April  1755,  and  at 
once  took  its  place  as  the  standard  authority.  It  was  a  great 


452  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

advance  upon  its  predecessors.  The  general  excellence  of  its  defi- 
nitions and  the  judicious  selection  of  illustrative  passages  make  it 
(as  often  observed)  entertaining  as  well  as  useful  for  reference. 
Its  most  obvious  defect  arises  from  Johnson's  ignorance  of  the 
early  forms  of  the  language  and  from  the  conception  then  natural 
of  the  purpose  of  a  dictionary.  Johnson  (see  his  preface)  had 
sensibly  abandoned  his  first  impression  that  he  might  be  able  to 
'fix  the  language,'  as  he  came  to  see  that  every  living  language  must 
grow.  He  did  not  aim,  however,  at  tracing  the  growth  historically, 
but  simply  at  defining  the  actual  senses  of  words  as  employed  by 
the  'best  authors.'  He  held  that  the  language  had  reached  almost 
its  fullest  development  in  the  days  of  Shakespeare,  Hooker,  Bacon, 
and  Spenser,  and  thought  it  needless  to  go  further  back  than 
Sidney.  He  also,  as  a  rule,  omitted  living  authors.  The  dic- 
tionary, therefore,  was  of  no  philological  value,  although  it  has  been 
the  groundwork  upon  which  many  later  philologists  have  worked. 
Taking  for  granted  the  contemporary  view  of  the  true  end  of  a 
dictionary,  it  was  a  surprising  achievement,  and  made  an  epoch 
in  the  study  of  the  language. 

Johnson's  labours  during  the  preparation  of  the  dictionary 
must  have  been  enormous,  especially  while  he  was  also  publishing 
the  'Rambler.'  He  never  afterwards  overcame  his  constitutional 
indolence  for  so  strenuous  and  prolonged  an  effort.  He  was 
already  attracting  many  friends,  and  no  man  ever  had  a  more  • 
numerous  or  distinguished  circle,  or  was  more  faithful  to  all  who 
had  ever  done  him  a  kindness.  He  took  an  early  delight  in  the 
tavern  clubs  characteristic  of  the  time.  The  first  mentioned  ap- 
pears to  be  a  club  in  Old  Street,  at  which  he  met  Psalmanazar, 
and  the  'Metaphysical  Tailor,'  an  uncle  of  John  Hoole  [q.  v.]. 
In  the  winter  of  1 749  he  formed  a  club  which  met  weekly  at  '  a 
famous  beefsteak-house,'  the  King's  Head,  Ivy  Lane.  Among  the 
members  were  Richard  Bathurst  [q.  v.],  the  'good  hater,'  who  was 
a  'man  after  his  own  heart,'  John  Hawkesworth  [q.  v.],  his  spe- 
cial imitator,  Samuel  Dyer  [q.  v],  and  (Sir)  John  Hawkins  [q.  v.], 
his  biographer.  Johnson  already  made  it  a  rule  to  talk  his  best 
and  thus  acquired  his  conversational  supremacy  (HAWKINS,  pp. 
219-59,  gives  a  long  account  of  this  club;  see  BOSWELL,  i.  190-1, 
with  Mr.  Hill's  note).  Among  other  friends  acquired  at  this 


THE  LIFE   OF   DR.   SAMUEL   JOHNSON  453 

period  was  Bennet  Langton  [q.  v.],  who  had  been  attracted  to  him 
by  reading  the  'Rambler.'  Through  Langton  he  became  known 
to  Topham  Beauclerk  [q.  v.],  and  with  the  pair  had  his  famous 
night's  frisk  to  Billingsgate  (BOSWELL,  i.  251).  He  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Reynolds  at  the  house  of  their  common  friends, 
two  daughters  of  Admiral  Cotterell,  who  had  been  neighbours  of 
Johnson  in  1738.  Reynolds,  it  seems,  had  been  induced  by  the 
life  of  Savage  to  cultivate  Johnson's  acquaintance.  Charles 
Burney  (1726-1814)  [q.  v.]  had  been  impressed  by  the  'Rambler,' 
and  in  1755  wrote  to  Johnson  from  Lynn  Regis  offering  to  take 
some  copies  of  the  dictionary.  Their  first  interview  seems  to  have 
been  in  1758  (ib.  i.  328).  Johnson  made  Goldsmith's  acquaint- 
ance in  1761,  and  must  have  become  known  to  Burke  by  the  same 
time.  He  constantly  added  friends  to  his  circle,  and  declared  late 
in  life  that  he  thought  a  day  lost  in  which  he  did  not  make  a  new 
acquaintance.  'A  man,'  he  said,  'should  keep  his  friendship 
in  constant  repair,'  and  he  scarcely  lost  a  friend,  except  by  death. 
Some  time  after  the  loss  of  his  wife  he  received  into  his  house  Miss 
Anna  Williams,  daughter  of  a  Welsh  physician,  Zachariah  Will- 
iams, who  died  12  July  1755.  Miss  Williams  had  come  to  Lon- 
don, for  an  operation  upon  her  eyes,  during  Mrs.  Johnson's  life. 
She  afterwards  became  totally  blind,  and  had  a  permanent  apart- 
ment in  Johnson's  house.  Her  father  had  invented  a  method  for 
determining  the  longitude  by  means  of  the  variation  of  the  com- 
pass, of  which  Johnson  wrote  an  account  in  1755  (published,  with 
an  Italian  translation,  by  Baretti;  a  copy,  presented  by  Johnson, 
is  in  the  Bodleian  Library).  Miss  Williams  was  well-educated 
and  intelligent.  Johnson  took  pleasure  in  her  conversation,  took 
her  advice,  and  always  treated  her  with  high  respect,  in  spite  of  her 
growing  'peevishness '  in  later  years.  She  seems  to  have  had  some 
small  means.  Lady  Knight  (see  CROKER'S  Johnsoniana)  says  that 
she  was  never  dependent  on  Johnson,  and  that  each  drew  freely 
on  the  other's  purse.  Garrick,  however,  gave  her  a  benefit,  at 
Johnson's  desire,  by  which  she  made  20o/.  (BOSWELL,  i.  393), 
and  Mrs.  Montagu  gave  her  a  small  annuity  in  1775.  Another 
inmate  of  Johnson's  house  from  an  early  period  was  Robert  Levett, 
who  had  been  waiter  in  a  French  coffee-house,  picked  up  a  know- 
ledge of  physic,  and  practised  among  the  poor.  Johnson  had 


454  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

known  him  from  about  1746.  He  was  grotesque,  stiff,  and  silent, 
according  to  Boswell  (i.  24),  and  always  waited  upon  Johnson  at 
breakfast.  Johnson,  however,  never  treated  him  as  a  dependent, 
and  upon  his  death,  20  Jan.  1782,  wrote  the  most  pathetic  of  his 
poems.  In  1777  or  1778  Johnson  took  into  his  house  Mrs.  Des- 
moulins  (to  whom  he  allowed  half  a  guinea  a  week),  widow  of  a 
writing-master  and  daughter  of  his  godfather,  Dr.  Swinfen,  and  a 
Miss  Carmichael,  of  whom  little  is  known  (ib.  iv.  222).  The  party 
was  not  harmonious.  Williams,  said  Johnson,  'hates  everybody; 
Levett  hates  Desmoulins,  and  does  not  love  Williams ;  Desmoulins 
hates  them  both;  Poll  [Miss  Carmichael]  loves  none  of  them.' 
Johnson  sometimes  feared  to  go  home  on  account  of  their  com- 
plaints, says  Mrs.  Piozzi  (Anecdotes,  p.  213);  but  if  any  one 
reproached  them,  he  always  defended  them.  His  charity  to  the 
unprotected  was  unbounded  through  life,  according  to  the  testi- 
mony of  Boswell,  Mrs.  Piozzi,  Murphy,  and  even  Hawkins  (see 
Mr.  Hill's  appendix  to  BOSWELL,VO!.  iii.).  Johnson  had  also  a  black 
servant,  Francis  Barber,  born  in  Jamaica  as  a  slave  of  Colonel 
Bathurst,  father  of  Richard  Bathurst.  He  was  freed  by  the  colo- 
nel's will,  and  about  1752  entered  Johnson's  service.  Johnson 
sent  him  to  school,  and  Barber  left  him  to  go  to  sea  in  1759.  John- 
son applied  to  Smollett,  who  applied  to  Wilkes,  who  obtained 
Barber's  discharge  by  his  influence  with  one  of  the  lords  of  the 
admiralty.  From  this  time  till  Johnson's  death  Barber  continued 
in  his  service  (ib.  i.  238,  348). 

The  sum  due  for  the  dictionary  had  been  advanced,  and  ap- 
parently lool.  more  (MURPHY,  p.  78),  before  the  task  was  com- 
pleted. Johnson's  poverty  is  shown  by  a  note  addressed  to  Rich- 
ardson on  1 6  March  1756,  stating  that  he  had  been  arrested  for 
5/.  135.  and  asking  for  a  loan  (ib.  p.  86).  Richardson  sent  him  six 
guineas.  He  undertook  to  edit  the  'Literary  Magazine,  or  Uni- 
versal Review,'  of  which  the  first  number  appeared  in  May  1756, 
and  contributed  a  good  many  essays.  A  review  of  Jonas  Hanway 
provoked  a  retort  from  the  author,  and  Johnson  made  the  only 
reply  to  which  he  ever  condescended.  He  was  defending  his 
favourite  tea,  of  which  his  potations  were  enormous.  Cumber- 
land's report  of  his  having  drunk  twenty-five  cups  at  a  sitting  seems 
to  mark  the  maximum.  Another  remarkable  article  was  his 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL   JOHNSON  455 

attack  on  Soame  Jenyns's  'Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  Evil/  which 
gave  an  occasion-  for  some  characteristic  utterances.  The  maga- 
zine expired  in  1758,  Johnson  having  ceased  to  write  in  it.  He 
now  took  up  again,  in  1756,  his  proposed  edition  of  Shakespeare, 
but  dawdled  over  it  unconscionably.  On  15  April  1758  appeared 
the  first  number  of  his  'Idler,'  published  on  Saturdays  in  New- 
'bery's  'Universal  Chronicle.'  The  last  appeared  on  5  April 
1760.  Twelve  of  the  103  numbers  were  contributed  by  friends, 
including  Langton,  Thomas  Warton,  and  Reynolds.  They  were 
written  hastily  and  were  less  impressive  than  the  'Rambler.' 
The  first  collected  edition  in  2  vols.  appeared  in  October  1761, 
and  Johnson's  two-thirds  of  the  profits  produced  84/.  2S.  ^d. 

In  January  1759  (about  the  2oth)  Johnson's  mother  died  at  the 
age  of  ninety.  Johnson  had  been  unable  to  see  her  for  some 
years,  though  he  had  helped  her  with  money  and  wrote  some  very 
touching  letters  to  her  on  her  deathbed.  In  order  to  raise  a  small 
sum  to  meet  the  expense  of  her  illness  and  death  and  to  discharge 
some  small  debts  he  wrote  '  Rasselas '  in  the  evenings  of  one  week 
(BOSWELL,  i.  341,  512-16).  He  received  zoo/,  for  the  copyright, 
and  had  a  present  of  25^.  more  on  a  second  edition.  This  power- 
ful though  ponderous  work  was  apparently  the  most  popular  of  his 
writings.  It  reached  a  fifth  edition  in  1775,  and  has  been  trans- 
lated into  French,  German,  Italian,  Dutch,  Bengalee,  Hungarian, 
Polish,  modern  Greek,  and  Spanish  (J.  MACAULAY,  Bibliography 
of  Rasselas).  Johnson  himself  remarked  the  curious  coincidence 
with  Voltaire's  'Candide.'  On  20  Jan.  Johnson  promised  to 
deliver  'Rasselas'  to  the  printers  on  Monday  (the  25th),  and  it 
appeared  about  the  end  of  March  (BOSWELL,  i.  516.  vi.  xxviii). 
'Candide'  is  mentioned  by  Grimm  on  i  April  as  having  just 
appeared.  Each  is  a  powerful  assault  upon  the  fashionable 
optimism  of  the  day,  though  Voltaire's  wit  has  saved  'Candide' 
from  the  partial  oblivion  which  has  overtaken  'Rasselas.'  About 
this  time  Johnson  'found  it  necessary  to  retrench  his  expenses.' 
He  gave  up  his  house  in  Gough  Square ;  Miss  Williams  went  into 
lodgings  in  Bolt  Court,  Fleet  Street:  and  he  took  chambers  at 
No.  i  Inner  Temple  Lane,  where  he  lived  in  indolent  poverty 
(MURPHY,  p.  90).  Though  most  of  Johnson's  literary  services  to 
friends  were  gratuitous,  he  occasionally  received  money  for  such 


456  SIR   LESLIE    STEPHEN 

work.  Thomas  Hervey  [q.  v.]  gave  him  50^.  for  a  pamphlet  (never 
published)  written  in  his  defence  (BOSWELL,  ii.  33),  and  he  received 
id.  i  os.  from  Dr.  Madden  for  correcting  his  'Boulter's  Monu- 
ment.' Occasional  windfalls  of  this  kind  must  have  been  of  some 
importance  to  his  finances.  Johnson  took  tea  with  Miss  Williams 
every  night  (as  Boswell  mentions  in  1763)  before  going  home, 
however  late  he  might  be.  Beyond  helping  his  friends  with  a  few 
dedications  and  articles  and  writing  an  introduction  to  the  proceed- 
ings of  a  committee  for  clothing  French  prisoners  (1760),  he  did 
little  unless  he  worked  at  his  Shakespeare.  On  i  Feb.  1762  he 
took  part  in  examining  into  the  ridiculous  Cock  Lane  ghost  story, 
and  published  an  account  of  the  detection  of  the  cheat  in  the 
'Gentleman's  Magazine'  (xxxii.  81). 

After  the  accession  of  George  III  a  few  pensions  were  given  to 
literary  persons,  chiefly,  it  seems,  to  hangers-on  of  the  Bute  min- 
istry. Thomas  Sheridan  and  Murphy,  who  were  common  friends 
of  Johnson  and  Wedderburne  (afterwards  Lord  Loughborough), 
suggested  to  Wedderburne  to  apply  to  Bute  on  behalf  of  Johnson. 
Other  friends  appear  to  have  concurred  in  the  application,  and  a 
pension  of  300^.  a  year  was  granted  in  July  1762.  Johnson, 
who  had  said  in  his  dictionary  that  a  pension  in  England  was  'gen- 
erally understood  to  mean  pay  given  to  a  state  hireling  for  treason 
to  his  country,'  hesitated  as  to  the  propriety  of  accepting  the  offer. 
Reynolds,  whom  he  consulted,  told  him,  of  course,  that  the  defini- 
tion would  not  apply  to  him;  and  the  scruple  was  probably  of 
the  slightest.  Bute  assured  Johnson  emphatically  that  the  grant 
was  solely  for  what  he  had  done,  not  for  anything  that  he  was  to 
do.  There  is  no  reason  for  doubting  either  Bute's  sincerity  or 
Johnson's.  The  opposition  writers  naturally  made  a  little  fun  out 
of  the  pension.  Johnson  laughed  at  the  noise,  and  wished  that  his 
pension  were  twice  as  large  and  the  noise  twice  as  great  (Bos WELL, 
i.  429).  Johnson  was  requested  to  write  pamphlets  by  ministers, 
and  received  materials  from  the  ministry  for  writing  upon  the 
Falkland  Islands.  It  is  probable  that  he  felt  some  obligations  as 
a  pensioner,  in  spite  of  the  assurances  given  him  at  the  time ;  but 
the  pamphlets  clearly  expressed  his  settled  convictions.  The  first 
was  not  written  for  seven  years  after  this  time,  and  he  received 
nothing  for  them  except  from  the  booksellers  (ib.  ii.  147).  No 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  457 

imputation  can  be  made  upon  his  independence,  though  the  impulse 
to  write  would  hardly  have  come  to  him  had  it  not  been  for  his 
connection  with  the  government. 

The  pamphlets  thus  written  were  'The  False  Alarm'  (1770), 
upon  the  expulsion  of  Wilkes  and  the  seating  of  his  opponent  Lut- 
trell;  'Thoughts  on  the  late  Transactions  respecting  Falkland's 
Islands'  (1771),  in  answer  to  the  Junius  letter  of  30  Jan.  1771 
(Junius  took  no  notice  of  the  attack);  'The  Patriot'  (1774), 
written  on  behalf  of  Thrale,  then  candidate  for  Southwark  at 
the  general  election  (ib.  ii.  286);  and  'Taxation  no  Tyranny' 
(1775),  in  answer  to  the  address  of  the  American  congress.  The 
first  edition  of  the  Falkland  Islands  pamphlet  was  stopped  by 
Lord  North,  after  some  copies  had  been  sold,  in  order  to  suppress 
a  sneer  at  George  Grenville  ('if  he  could  have  got  the  money' 
[the  Manilla  ransom]  'he  could  have  counted  it')  (  see  BOSWELL, 
ii.  136;  and  Junius'  Letters,  1812,  ii.  199).  The  ministry  cut  out 
at  least  one  insulting  passage  from  the  American  pamphlet  (B OS- 
WELL,  ii.  313).  The  pamphlets  are  written  forcibly  and  with  less 
than  the  usual  mannerism;  but  they  have  in  general  the  natural 
defect  of  amateur  political  writing.  They  are  interesting  as  ex- 
pressions of  Johnson's  sturdy  toryism,  his  conviction  of  the  neces- 
sity of  subordination  and  of  the  frivolity  of  popular  commonplaces 
about  liberty.  He  hated  whigs,  not  so  much  because  they  had 
different  principles  of  government  as  because  he  held  that  'whig- 
gism  was  a  negation  of  all  principle '  (ib.  i.  43 1).  The  attack  upon 
the  Americans  is  arrogant  and  offensive.  Although  Mr.  Hill 
truly  points  out  (vol.  ii.  App.  B)  that  Johnson's  dislike  to  America 
was  associated  with  his  righteous  hatred  of  slavery  and  consequent 
prejudice  against  the  planters,  it  is  equally  true  that  he  states  the 
English  claims  in  the  most  illiberal  and  irritating  fashion. 

The  pension  unfortunately  led  to  a  quarrel  with  Thomas  Sheri- 
dan, who  had  helped  to  procure  it.  Sheridan  also  received  a 
pension  of  2oo/.  a  year,  and  a  petulant  remark  of  Johnson's 
('that  it  is  time  for  me  to  give  up  mine')  was  repeated  to  Sheri- 
dan and  caused  a  lasting  alienation,  the  only  case  recorded  of  the 
loss  of  a  friend  of  Johnson's  by  his  rough  remarks.  Johnson  was 
willing  in  this  case  to  be  reconciled,  and  Reynolds  observes  that, 
after  he  had  given  offence  by  his  rudeness,  he  was  always  the  first 
to  seek  for  reconciliation  (TAYLOR,  Reynolds,  ii.  457). 


458  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Beauclerk  hoped  that  Johnson  would  now  'purge  and  live 
cleanly  like  a  gentleman,'  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life  Johnson  was 
free  from  pecuniary  troubles.  He  paid  off  old  debts  and  made 
loans  to  friends.  He  was  enabled  to  indulge  his  constitutional 
indolence  and  to  write  comparatively  little.  'No  man  but  a 
blockhead,'  he  said,  'ever  wrote  except  for  money'  (ib.  iii.  19). 
His  spreading  reputation  at  the  same  time  increased  his  oppor- 
tunities for  social  relaxation.  According  to  Dr.  Maxwell,  who 
knew  him  from  1754,  he  was  often  in  bed  till  twelve  o'clock  or 
'declaiming  over  his  tea.'  Literary  people  looked  in  about  that 
time,  and,  after  talking  all  the  morning,  he  dined  at  a  tavern, 
stayed  late,  and  afterwards  loitered  long  at  some  friend's  house, 
though  he  seldom  took  supper.  He  never  refused  an  invitation 
to  a  tavern,  often  amused  himself  at  Ranelagh,  and,  according 
to  Maxwell,  must  have  read  and  written  at  night  (ib.  ii.  119).  It 
was  on  1 6  May  1763  that  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Boswell 
[see  under  BOSWELL,  JAMES],  and  thus  became  visible  to  posterity. 
One  famous  field  for  conversational  display  was  opened  by  the 
foundation  of  the  Club,  probably  in  the  winter  of  1763-4.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  suggested  it  to  Johnson,  and  the  other  original 
members  were  Burke,  Dr.  Nugent  (Burke's  father-in-law),  Beau- 
clerk,  Langton,  Goldsmith,  Anthony  Chamier  [q.  v.],  and  Hawkins. 
It  began  by  a  weekly  supper  in  the  Turk's  Head,  Gerrard  Street, 
Soho,  where  it  was  held  till  1783.  In  1772  the  supper  was  changed 
to  a  fortnightly  dinner  during  the  meeting  of  parliament.  Boswell 
was  elected,  owing  chiefly  to  Johnson's  influence,  on  30  April  1773, 
and  the  numbers  were  gradually  increased  till  in  1780  there  were 
thirty-five  members.  Among  the  chief  members  elected  in  John- 
son's lifetime  were  Bishop  Percy,  G.  Colman,  Garrick,  Sir  W. 
Jones,  C.  J.  Fox,  Gibbon,  Adam  Smith,  R.  B.  Sheridan,  Dunning, 
Lord  Stowell,  Bishop  Shipley,  Thomas  and  Joseph  Warton,  and 
Charles  Burney  (see  list  of  Club  in  CROKER,  Boswell,  ii.  App.  i). 
Johnson  was  annoyed  by  Garrick's  assumption  in  saying,  '  I'll  be 
of  you,'  but  welcomed  his  election  in  1773,  and  upon  his  death  de- 
clared that  the  Club  should  keep  a  year's  widowhood.  Johnson 
did  not  attend  very  regularly  after  the  first  years;  but  the  Club 
no  doubt  extended  the  conversational  empire  of  the  man  whom 
Smollett  had  called  in  1759  the  'great  Cham  of  literature.' 


THE   LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  459 

The  connection  with  the  Thrales,  formed  about  this  time,  was 
of  more  importance  to  Johnson's  happiness.  Henry  Thrale  was 
a  prosperous  brewer,  who  was  member  for  Southwark  (1768-80). 
He  had  a  house  at  Streatham,  called  Streatham  Park,  a  large  white 
house  in  a  park  of  about  a  hundred  acres  on  the  south  side  of  the 
lower  common.  It  was  pulled  down  in  May  1863  (THORNE, 
Environs  of  London,  p.  590).  His  wife,  Hesther  Lynch  Salisbury, 
afterwards  Mrs.  Piozzi  [q.  v.],  was  a  very  bright  little  woman 
of  literary  tastes.  Murphy,  who  was  intimate  with  the  Thrales, 
introduced  them  to  Johnson  in  1764  (Piozzi,  Anecd.  p.  125).  He 
dined  with  them  frequently  and  followed  them  to  Brighton  in  the 
autumn  of  1765.  Johnson  appears  to  have  had  a  serious  illness 
about  this  time,  and  in  February  1766  Boswell  found  that  he  had 
been  obliged  to  give  up  the  use  of  wine.  His  constitutional  melan- 
choly seems  to  have  been  developed,  although  he  was  now  free 
from  money  troubles  and  had  settled  in  a  comfortable  house  in 
Johnson's  Court,  Fleet  Street,  with  Miss  Williams  and  Levett. 
The  Thrales  tried  to  soothe  him,  and  on  one  occasion  found  him 
in  such  despair,  apparently  fearing  that  his  melancholy  would  lead 
to  insanity,  that  they  prevailed  upon  him  to  leave  the  close  London 
court  for  Streatham.  He  stayed  there  from  midsummer  to  October 
1766  (Bos WELL,  ii.  25 ;  see  Mr.  Hill's  Appendix  F  to  vol.  ii.  for  a 
discussion  of  dates). 

He  soon  became  almost  a  member  of  the  family.  He  had  a 
room  at  Streatham,  where  he  generally  spent  some  months  in  the 
summer,  coming  up  to  town  from  Saturday  to  Monday  to  see  that 
his  dependents  got  three  good  dinners  in  the  week  (Piozzi,  Anecd. 
p.  85).  He  had  also  a  room  in  their  town  houses,  first  in  South- 
wark, and,  for  a  short  time  before  Thrale's  death,  in  Grosvenor 
Square.  Thrale  was  a  sensible  man,  with  some  scholarship  as 
well  as  knowledge  of  business,  and  a  delight,  according  to  Madame 
d'Arblay  (Memoirs  of  Burney,  ii.  104),  in  'provoking  a  war  of 
words,'  which  Johnson  frequently  gratified.  He  was,  however, 
rather  given  to  foolish  speculations,  and  in  his  last  years,  when  his 
mind  was  probably  weakened,  became  troublesome  to  his  wife. 
Johnson  learned  to  drop  some  of  his  roughness  and  irregular  habits 
at  the  house.  His  presence  naturally  attracted  literary  society, 
and  Mrs.  Thrale  was  flattered  by  her  power  over  the  literary 


460  SIR   LESLIE   STEPHEN 

dictator.  Johnson,  who  called  her  'my  mistress'  and  Thrale  'my 
master,'  was  alternately  a  wise  monitor  and  a  tolerably  daring 
flatterer,  while  Thrale  invariably  treated  him  with  profound  respect. 
They  soothed,  as  he  said  long  afterwards,  '  twenty  years  of  a  life 
radically  wretched.' 

Johnson's  intellectual  activity  henceforward  found  its  chief 
outlet  in  conversation.  To  the  inimitable  reports  of  Boswell  may 
be  added  the  sayings  reported  by  Mrs.  Piozzi  (though  obviously 
not  very  accurate),  the  excellent  descriptions  in  Mme.  d'Arblay's 
'  Diary,'  and  a  variety  of  detached  sayings  scattered  through 
works  to  which  a  reference  is  given  below.  His  interview  with 
George  III,  especially  valued  by  Boswell,  took  place  in  February 
1767  (BOSWELL,  ii.  33-43) ;  that  with  Wilkes,  which  showed  Bos- 
well's  diplomatic  powers  at  their  highest,  on  15  May  1776  (ib.  iii. 
69-78) ;  and  that  in  which  the  quaker  Mrs.  Knowles  claimed  to 
have  confuted  him  in  an  argument  about  a  convert  to  her  faith, 
on  15  April  1778  (ib.  iii.  284-98).  Mrs.  Knowles  published  a 
counter-version  of  this  in  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine'  for  June 
1791  (reprinted  in  '  Johnsoniana'),  and  Miss  Seward  gave  a  third 
account  (Letters,  i.  97).  The  quaintest  proof  of  Johnson's  dic- 
tatorship is  the  '  round-robin '  presented  to  him  in  1776  to  request 
him  to  write  Goldsmith's  epitaph  in  English  (facsimile  in  BOSWELL, 
iii.  83),  written  by  Burke,  presented  by  Reynolds,  and  signed 
(among  others)  by  Gibbon.  Nearly  every  distinguished  man  of 
letters  of  the  period  came  more  or  less  into  contact  with  Johnson, 
except  David  Hume,  to  whom  he  would  hardly  have  consented  to 
speak,  and  Gray,  whose  acquaintance  in  town  was  limited  to  the 
Walpole  circle.  Walpole  speaks  of  Johnson  with  aversion,  and 
doubtless  expressed  the  prejudices  of  'good  society.'  'Great 
lords  and  ladies,'  said  Johnson  (BOSWELL,  iv.  116),  'don't  love  to 
have  their  mouths  stopped.'  Their  curiosity  was  therefore  soon 
satisfied,  and,  in  spite  of  his  reverence  for  rank,  he  saw  little  of  the 
leaders  in  society  or  politics. 

In  October  1 765  Johnson  had  at  last  brought  out  his  Shakespeare, 
which  he  describes  as  at  press  in  1757.  A  sneer  in  Churchill's 
'Ghost'  (1763)  is  supposed  to  have  hastened  the  appearance: 

He  for  subscribers  baits  his  hook, 

And  takes  the  cash  —  but  where's  the  book? 


THE   LIFE  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  461 

(bk.  iii.  11.  801-2).  The  commentary  may  perhaps  be  said  to 
be  better  than  could  have  been  expected  from  a  man  whose  strong 
intellect,  unprovided  with  the  necessary  knowledge  of  contemporary 
authors,  was  steeped  in  the  narrow  conceptions  of  poetry  most 
unlike  Shakespeare's,  and  too  indolent  for  minute  study.  He 
received  375^.  for  the  first  and  ioo/.  for  the  second  edition  (NICHOLS, 
Lit.  Anecd.  v.  597).  After  this,  besides  occasionally  helping 
friends  and  writing  his  'Tour  to  the  Hebrides'  (see  below),  he 
did  little  until  he  wrote  the  most  permanently  valuable  of  his 
books.  On  29  May  1777  he  agreed  with  the  booksellers  to  write 
prefaces  for  a  proposed  collection  of  the  English  poets.  They 
judiciously  asked  him  to  name  his  own  price.  He  suggested  two 
hundred  guineas,  though,  according  to  Malone,  they  would  have 
given  one  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  (BoswELL,  iii.  114).  An- 
other ioo/.  was  given  afterwards,  and  a  further  ioo/.  on  the  pub- 
lication of  a  separate  edition  of  the  lives  (ib.  iv.  35).  The  poets 
were  selected  by  the  booksellers,  though  Blackmore,  Watts,  Pom- 
fret,  and  Yalden  were  added  on  Johnson's  advice.  The  first 
four  volumes  appeared  in  1779,  the  last  six  in  1781.  They  include 
a  reprint  of  the  life  of  Savage  and  a  life  of  Young  by  Sir  Herbert 
Croft  (1751-1816)  [q.  v.].  Johnson's  mannerism  had  become  less 
marked ;  and  the  book,  except  in  the  matter  of  antiquarian  re- 
search, is  a  model  of  its  kind.  Of  all  his  writings  this  falls  least 
behind  his  conversation  in  excellence,  and  is  admirable  within  the 
limits  of  his  critical  perception. 

Johnson's  pension  enabled  him  to  indulge  in  frequent  excursions 
from  London.  Though  constantly  expressing  his  passion  for 
London  (e.g.  'when  a  man  is  tired  of  London  he  is  tired  of  life, 
for  there  is  in  London  all  that  life  can  afford')  (ib.  iii.  178),  he 
often  showed  interest  in  travel.  His  journeys  consisted  chiefly 
of  visits  to  Oxford  and  Lichfield,  and  to  Dr.  Taylor  at  Ashbourne, 
where  he  discussed  his  old  friend's  bulls  and  bulldogs.  He  en- 
joyed the  motion,  and  said  that  he  should  like  to  spend  his  life 
'driving  briskly  in  a  post-chaise  with  a  pretty  woman'  (ib.  iii. 
162).  His  chief  performance,  however,  was  his  journey  with 
Boswell  in  1773.  Leaving  Edinburgh  on  18  Aug.  they  travelled 
by  St.  Andrews  and  the  east  coast  to  Inverness,  crossed  to  Skye, 
and  spent  some  time  in  visiting  the  neighbouring  islands.  They 


462  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

returned  by  Inverary  to  Glasgow,  and  by  Auchinleck,  where  he 
had  a  smart  encounter  with  the  elder  Boswell,  to  Edinburgh. 

The  account  of  his  journey  was  published  in  1775,  and,  if  it 
shows  little  taste  for  the  picturesque,  proved  a  keen  interest  in  the 
social  condition  of  the  natives.  It  was  commended  by  Burke  and 
others,  much  to  Johnson's  pleasure  (ib.  Hi.  137) ;  but  its  dignified 
disquisition  is  less  amusing  than  Boswell's  graphic  account  of  the 
same  journey,  in  which  Johnson  is  himself  the  chief  figure.  An 
expression  of  disbelief  in  the  authenticity  of  Ossian's  poems,  chiefly 
on  the  ground  that  MacPherson  had  appealed  to  original  manu- 
scripts which  were  never  produced,  caused  MacPherson  to  write 
an  angry  letter  to  Johnson.  Johnson  replied  in  a  contemptuous 
letter  saying  that  he  '  would  not  be  deterred  from  detecting  what 
he  thought  a  cheat  by  the  menaces  of  a  ruffian '  (original  sold  in 
1875  for  5o/.).  The  letter  implies  that  MacPherson  had  threatened 
violence  (see  Academy,  19  Oct.  1878,  for  MacPherson's  letters), 
which  Johnson  despised.  Boswell  relates  that  when  Foote 
threatened  to  mimic  him  on  the  stage  he  sent  for  a  stout  oak  stick 
to  administer  punishment.  Foote  judiciously  gave  up  the  plan 
(BOSWELL,  ii.  299). 

In  1774  Johnson  made  a  Welsh  tour  with  the  Thrales,  and  in 
1775  accompanied  them  to  Paris.  His  brief  diaries  give  little  of 
the  impressions  made  upon  him.  In  France  he  persisted  in  talk- 
ing Latin,  and  saw  nothing  of  the  literary  society  which  had  wel- 
comed Hume.  His  name  was  probably  little  known,  and  it  was 
as  well  for  the  credit  of  English  good  manners  that  his  hosts  should 
not  hear  his  opinion  of  them.  Although  Johnson  had  talked  of  a 
visit  to  Ireland  in  early  days,  and  after  his  Scottish  tour  wanted 
Boswell  to  go  up  the  Baltic  with  him,  he  never  left  England  except 
on  his  French  tour.  An  intended  journey  to  Italy  with  the  Thrales 
in  1776  was  abandoned  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  Thrale's 
only  son  (see  Mr.  Hill's  list  of  Johnson's  travels,  BOSWELL,  Hi. 
App.  B). 

In  his  later  years  Johnson's  health  gradually  declined.  He 
suffered  much  from  asthma  and  gout.  The  comforts  of  Streatham 
and  Mrs.  Thrale's  attentions  were  the  more  valuable  as  he  became 
more  of  an  invalid.  On  4  April  1781  Thrale,  who  had  had  an 
apoplectic  attack  in  1779,  died  of  another  fit,  to  Johnson's  pro- 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  463 

found  sorrow.  'I  looked,'  he  said,  'for  the  last  time  upon  the 
face  that  for  fifteen  years  had  never  been  turned  upon  me  but  with 
respect  and  benignity.'  Johnson  was  appointed  executor  with  a 
legacy  of  2oo/.,  and  enjoyed  a  taste  of  practical  business,  observing 
at  the  sale  of  the  brewery  that  'we  are  not  here  to  sell  a  parcel  of 
boilers  and  vats,  but  the  potentiality  of  growing  rich  beyond  the 
dreams  of  avarice'  (BoswELL,  iv.  87).  According  to  Mrs.  Piozzi 
he  took  a  simple-minded  pleasure  in  discharging  his  duties  as 
executor  and  signing  cheques  for  large  sums. 

For  some  time  the  loss  of  Thrale  did  not  affect  Johnson's  posi- 
tion in  the  family.  In  the  autumn  he  made  his  usual  visit  to  Lich- 
field,  where  he  was  depressed  by  the  growing  infirmities  of  his 
friends,  especially  Miss  Aston  and  his  stepdaughter  Lucy  Porter. 
In  the  beginning  of  1782  he  was  seriously  ill;  and  his  household 
was  made  desolate  by  the  death  of  Levett  (17  Jan.)  and  the  decline 
of  Miss  Williams,  who,  however,  lingered  till  i  Sept.  1783  (Piozzi, 
Letters,  ii.  309). 

The  comforts  of  Streatham  were  therefore  more  valuable  than 
ever;  but  in  the  autumn  of  1782  this  resource  failed.  Mrs.  Piozzi 
in  her  'Anecdotes'  (1785)  gave  an  account  of  the  circumstances, 
which  was  an  implicit  apology  for  her  own  conduct.  She  says 
that  she  had  only  been  able  to  bear  Johnson's  'yoke'  while  she 
had  the  support  of  her  'coadjutor'  Thrale;  that,  after  Thrale's 
death,  Johnson's  roughness  and  demands  upon  her  time  became 
intolerable;  and  that  she  'took  advantage  of  a  lost  lawsuit'  to 
abandon  London  and  Streatham  on  the  plea  of  economy,  and  retire 
to  Bath,  where  she  could  be  free.  Johnson's  health,  she  adds,  no 
longer  needed  her  attention,  as  he  suffered  from  nothing  but  'old 
age  and  infirmity,'  and  had  abundance  of  medical  advice  and  at- 
tendance. This  statement,  accepted  by  her  biographer,  Hay  ward, 
has  helped  to  support  the  accusations  of  brutality  made  against 
Johnson.  The  documents,  however,  which  he  publishes  show  that 
it  is  incomplete  and  misleading.  During  Thrale's  illness  of  two 
years,  and  for  a  year  or  so  after  his  death,  Johnson's  'yoke'  had 
been  a  most  valued  support.  She  had  attended  him  affectionately 
during  his  illness  in  1781-2,  and  in  her  diary  had  spoken  even 
passionately  of  his  value.  'If  I  lose  him,'  she  says  i  Feb.  1782, 
'I  am  more  than  undone'  (HAYWARD,  Piozzi,  i.  164,  167).  A 


464  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

sudden  change  appears  when  she  made  up  her  mind  to  travel  in 
Italy  in  order  to  economise.  She  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to 
take  Johnson,  and  yet  that  it  would  be  'shocking'  to  leave  him. 
A  temporary  improvement  in  his  health  encouraged  her  (22  Aug.) 
to  reveal  her  plan  to  him.  To  her  annoyance  he  approved  of  it, 
and  told  her  daughter  that  he  should  stay  at  home.  She  at  once 
decided  that  his  connection  with  her  (though  not  his  connection 
with  Thrale)  was  intere'sted,  and  that  he  cared  less  for  her  con- 
versation than  for  her  'roast  beef  and  plumb  pudden,  which  he 
now  devours  too  dirtily  for  endurance'  (ib.  p.  171).  The  habits 
which  she  had  borne  for  sixteen  years  became  suddenly  intoler- 
able. 

The  explanation  of  this  change,  naturally  passed  over  in  the 
'Anecdotes,'  is  obvious.  She  was  already  (ib.)  contemplating 
marriage  with  Piozzi,  an  Italian  musician  whom  she  had  first  met 
in  1780.  To  visit  Italy  under  his  guidance  'had  long  been  her 
dearest  wish.'  Johnson  had  already,  in  1781,  written  of  Piozzi 
(Piozzi,  Letters,  ii.  227,  229)  in  terms  which,  though  civil,  imply 
some  jealousy  of  his  influence.  *  Mrs.  Thrale  knew  that  the  mar- 
riage to  a  poor  popish  foreigner  would  (however  unreasonably) 
disgust  all  her  friends,  and  especially  her  daughters,  now  growing 
up.  It  led  to  sharp  quarrels  with  them,  and  she  condemns  their 
heartlessness  as  vigorously  as  Johnson's.  That  Johnson  would 
be  furious  if  he  suspected  was  certain,  and  he  could  hardly  be 
without  suspicions.  Mme.  d'Arblay  declared  in  her  memoirs  of 
her  father  (1832)  that  Mrs.  Thrale  had  become  petulant,  that  she 
neglected  and  slighted  Johnson,  and  that  he  resented  the  change. 
Although  this  statement,  written  many  years  later,  contains  some 
palpable  and  important  inaccuracies,  it  gives  a  highly  probable 
account  of  the  relations  between  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Thrale  at  the 
time. 

Mrs.  Thrale  resolved  to  give  up  Streatham.  On  6  Oct.  1782 
Johnson  took  a  solemn  leave  of  the  library  and  the  church,  record- 
ing also  in  Latin  the  composition  of  his  last  dinner  (possibly  for 
medical  reasons).  He  accompanied  the  Thrales  to  Brighton, 
where,  according  to  Mme.  d'Arblay 's  'Diary'  (ii.  177),  he  was  in 
his  worst  humour  and  made  himself  generally  disagreeable.  Mrs. 
Thrale  had  given  up  the  Italian  journey,  and  was  now  induced  by 


THE  LIFE   OF  DR.   SAMUEL   JOHNSON  465 

her  daughter's  remonstrances  to  break  with  Piozzi  for  a  time. 
Johnson  was  still  on  apparently  friendly  terms  with  her  during 
her  stay  in  London  in  the  winter.  She  went  to  Bath  in  April 
1783  and  corresponded  with  Johnson.  Their  letters,  however, 
show  a  marked  want  of  cordiality  and  frequent  irritation  on  both 
sides.  Johnson  complains  of  the  now  desolate  state  of  his  house, 
and  gives  details  of  his  growing  infirmities.  On  17  June  he  had  a 
paralytic  stroke.  He  recovered  for  the  time,  and  in  July  spent  a 
fortnight  with  Langton  at  Rochester.  Mrs.  Thrale  finally  ob- 
tained her  daughters'  consent  and  married  Piozzi  in  June  1784. 
Upon  her  announcing  the  marriage  to  Johnson  he  replied  in  a  letter 
of  unjustifiable  fury,  to  which  she  made  a  dignified  reply.  He  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  exceeded  his  right,  thanked  her  for  her  kindness, 
and  took  leave  with  sad  forebodings.  She  states  that  she  replied 
affectionately ;  but  they  never  again  met,  as  she  was  abroad  until 
his  death. 

Johnson,  deprived  of  his  old  asylum,  endeavoured  to  find  solace 
in  his  old  resources.  In  1781  his  friend  John  Hoole  had  formed 
a  city  club  for  him  at  the  Queen's  Arms,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard. 
In  the  winter  of  1783-1784  he  collected  a  few  survivors  of  the  old 
Ivy  Lane  Club,  who  held  some  rather  melancholy  meetings.  At 
the  end  of  1783  he  formed  another  club  at  the  Essex  Head  in  Essex 
Street,  kept  by  an  old  servant  of  Thrale's.  Among  the  members 
were  Daines  Barrington  [q.  v.],  Dr.  Brocklesby  [q.  v.],  Arthur 
Murphy  [q.  v.],  Samuel  Horsley  [q.  v.]  (afterwards  bishop  of  St. 
Asaph),  and  William  Windham,  who  was  strongly  attached  to  him 
in  his  later  years  (a  list  of  members  is  given  in  NICHOLS,  Lit.  Anecd. 
iv.  553).  His  infirmities,  however,  were  now  becoming  oppressive, 
and  his  letters  give  painful  details  of  his  suffering.  His  spirits 
occasionally  revived.  He  visited  Oxford  in  June  1784  with  Bos- 
well,  staying  with  his  old  friend  Adams,  the  master  of  Pembroke 
College,  where  he  gave  characteristic  utterance  to  his  fears  of 
death.  He  dined  for  the  last  time  at  the  Literary  Club  on  22  June. 
Boswell  thought  that  some  benefit  to  Johnson's  health  might  be 
derived  from  a  winter  in  Italy.  After  consulting  Reynolds  he 
applied  to  Thurlow,  lord  chancellor,  for  a  grant  which  would 
enable  Johnson  to  bear  the  expense.  Thurlow  made  a  favourable 
answer,  which  was  communicated  to  Johnson  by  Reynolds  and 

2H 


466  SIR    LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Boswell.  Johnson  was  much  affected,  and  mentioned  that  Brock- 
lesby  had  offered  to  settle  upon  him  an  annuity  of  ioo/.  For  some 
reason  which  does  not  appear,  Thurlow's  application  was  unsuc- 
cessful. He  proposed,  however,  that  Johnson  should  draw  upon 
him  for  500^.  or  6oo/.,  and  to  lessen  the  obligation  suggested  a 
mortgage  on  the  pension.  Johnson  declined  the  offer  in  a  grateful 
letter,  saying  that  his  health  had  improved  so  far  that  by  accepting 
he  would  be  now  'advancing  a  false  claim.'  In  the  autumn  he 
made  his  last  visit  to  Lichfield  and  Ashbourne,  returning  to  Lon- 
don on  1 6  Nov.  In  December  he  sent  directions  to  Lichfield  for 
epitaphs  to  be  placed  over  his  father,  mother,  and  brother  in  St. 
Michael's  Church,  Lichfield. 

He  now  rapidly  failed.  He  was  attended  by  Brocklesby,  He- 
berden,  Cruikshank,  and  others,  who  refused  fees ;  and  his  friends 
Burke,  Langton,  Reynolds,  Windham,  Miss  Burney,  and  others, 
attended  him  affectionately.  An  account  of  his  last  illness  (10  Nov. 
to  13  Dec.)  was  drawn  up  by  Hoole.  He  begged  Reynolds  to  for- 
give him  a  debt  of  30^. ;  to  read  his  bible,  and  never  to  paint  on  a 
Sunday ;  and  gave  pious  admonitions  to  many  friends.  He  sub- 
mitted courageously  to  operations  for  the  relief  of  his  dropsy,  and 
called  to  his  surgeon  to  cut  deeper.  He  made  his  will  on  8  and  9 
Dec.,  became  composed  after  some  agitation,  and  died  quietly  on 
13  Dec.  1784.  He  was  buried  on  20  Dec.  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
in  the  presence  of  many  members  of  the  Literary  Club,  Taylor 
reading  the  funeral  service.  Complaints  were  made  of  the  ab- 
sence of  any  special  cathedral  service ;  Hawkins,  as  executor,  not 
considering  himself  justified  in  paying  the  fees,  which  the  cathe- 
dral authorities  did  not  offer  to  remit  (TWINING,  in  Country 
Clergymen  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,  p.  129;  STEEVENS  and  PARR 
in  Johnsoniana).  A  subscription  opened  by  the  Literary  Club 
provided  the  monument  by  John  Bacon  [q.  v.],  with  an  epitaph  by 
Dr.  Parr,  erected  in  St.  Paul's  in  1785  at  a  cost  of  eleven  hun- 
dren  guineas.  From  an  account  of  a  post-mortem  examination, 
published  by  G.  T.  Squibb,  it  appears  that  Johnson  suffered  from 
gout,  emphysema  of  the  lungs,  and  granular  disease  of  the  kidneys. 
A  plate  of  an  emphysematous  lung  in  Baillie's  'Morbid  Anatomy' 
represents  one  of  Johnson's. 

In  his  will  Johnson  describes  his  property,  which  amounted  to 


THE   LIFE   OF  DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON  467 

about  2,300^.  He  left  2<x>/.  to  the  representatives  of  Thomas 
Innys,  bookseller,  in  gratitude  for  help  formerly  given  to  his  father ; 
ioo/.  to  a  female  servant;  while  the  rest  was  to  be  applied  to  a 
provision  for  his  negro  servant  Barber.  In  a  codicil  he  left  some 
sums  to  obscure  relations,  and  a  number  of  books  to  various 
friends.  Boswell  and  others  were  omitted,  probably  from  mere 
inadvertence.  Langton,  in  consideration  of  750^.  left  in  his  hands, 
was  to  pay  an  annuity  of  yo/.  to  Barber,  who  was  also  made  residu- 
ary legatee.  Barber  settled  at  Lichfield. 

Johnson  gave  Boswell  a  list  of  his  lodgings  in  London  (BOSWELL, 
iii.  407).  After  leaving  Castle  Street  (now  East)  about  1738,  he 
lived  successively  in  the  Strand,  Boswell  Court,  the  Strand,  Hoi- 
born,  Fetter  Lane,  Holborn,  Gough  Square  (1749-59),  Staple 
Inn,  Gray's  Inn,  i  Inner  Temple  Lane  (present  site  of  Johnson 
Buildings),  7  Johnson's  Court,  and  8  Bolt  Court  (the  house  in  Bolt 
Court  was  burnt  in  1819,  Notes  and  Queries,  ist  ser.  v.  232). 
Johnson's  house  at  Lichfield  was  sold  in  1785  for  235^  It  was 
bought  in  1887  for  8oo/.  by  Mr.  G.  H.  Johnson  of  Southport  (no 
relation),  who  preserves  it  without  alteration.  A  statue  by  T.  C. 
Lucas  was  erected  at  Lichfield  in  1838,  and  a  monument  at  Uttox- 
eter  (commemorative  of  his  penance  there)  in  1878  (Notes  and 
Queries,  7th  ser.  iv.  402). 

Johnson  received  the  degree  of  LL.D.  from  Dublin  in  1765, 
and  from  Oxford  in  1775;  but  scarcely  ever  himself  used  the 
familiar  title  of  'Dr.'  Johnson'  (BOSWELL,  ii.  332).  His  library 
was  sold  after  his  death  by  James  Christie  the  elder  [q.  v.]  for 
242/.  95.  A  sale-catalogue  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 

A  miniature  of  Johnson  by  an  unknown  painter  before  1752  was 
engraved  for  Croker's  edition.  Reynolds  painted  him:  (i)  In 
1756  (Boswell's  picture,  often  engraved,  given  in  HILL'S  Boswell, 
vol.  i.  opposite  p.  392);  (2)  in  1770  for  Lucy  Porter,  arms  raised 
with  characteristic  gesture;  replica  at  Knole  Park,  shown  at 
Guelph  Exhibition,  1891;  (3)  in  1773  for  Beauclerk,  afterwards 
Langton's,  replica  at  Streatham,  afterwards  Sir  Robert  Peel's, 
now  in  National  Gallery;  frontispiece  to  Hill's  'Boswell,'  vol. 
iii.;  (4)  in  1778  for  Malone;  the  picture  which  made  Johnson 
say  that  he  would  not  be  'blinking  Sam'  (Piozzi,  Anecdotes, 
p.  248;  LESLIE  and  TAYLOR,  Life  of  Reynolds,  i.  147,  357,  ii.  143, 


468  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

221).  He  was  painted  by  Barry  about  1781;  for  Kearsley,  by 
S.  C.  Trotter,  in  1782,  an  'ugly  fellow,  like  the  original,'  accord- 
ing to  Johnson  (Life  of,  1785,  published  by  Kearsley);  by  Miss 
Reynolds  in  1783,  called  by  the  original  'Johnson's  grimly  ghost' 
(Piozzi,  Letters,  ii.  302) ;  and  by  Opie,  who  never  finished  the 
picture,  according  to  Hawkins,  p.  569.  A  fine  mezzotint  from  this 
by  Townley  is  in  the  common-room  of  University  College;  given 
in  Hill's  'Boswell,'  frontispiece  to  vol.  iii.  245.  Nollekens  in 
1777  made  a  bust  in  clay,  never  put  into  marble.  There  is  a  draw- 
ing of  it  by  Wivell  reproduced  in  Hill's  'Boswell'  (frontispiece 
to  vol.  ii.). 

Johnson  had  a  tall,  well-formed,  and  massive  figure,  indicative 
of  great  physical  strength,  but  made  grotesque  by  a  strange  infirm- 
ity. Madame  d'Arblay  speaks  of  his  'vast  body  in  constant  agi- 
tation, swaying  backwards  and  forwards;'  Miss  Reynolds 
(Johnsoniana,  p.  222)  describes  his  apparently  unconscious  'an- 
tics,' especially  when  he  crossed  a  threshold.  Sometimes  when 
he  was  reading  a  book  in  the  fields  a  mob  would  gather  to  stare  at 
his  strange  gestures.  Reynolds  mentioned  that  he  could  constrain 
them  when  he  pleased  (BOSWELL,  i.  144),  though  Boswell  called 
them  St.  Vitus's  dance.  He  had  queer  tricks  of  touching  posts 
and  carefully  counting  steps,  even  when  on  horseback  (ib.  i.  484, 
v.  306;  WHYTE,  Miscellanea  Nova,  pp.  49,  50).  He  was  con- 
stantly talking  or  muttering  prayers  to  himself.  His  face,  accord- 
ing to  Campbell  (Diary,  p.  337),  had  'the* aspect  of  an  idiot.' 
He  remained  in  silent  abstraction  till  roused,  or,  as  Tyers  said 
(BOSWELL,  v.  73),  was  like  a  ghost,  who  never  speaks  till  he  is 
spoken  to.  In  spite  of  his  infirmities  he  occasionally  indulged  in 
athletic  performances.  Mrs.  Piozzi  says  that  he  sometimes 
hunted  with  Thrale.  He  understood  boxing,  and  regretted  the 
decline  of  prize-fighting,  jumped,  rowed,  and  shot,  in  a  'strange 
and  unwieldy'  way,  to  show  that  he  was  not  tired  after  a  'fifty 
miles'  chase,!  and,  according  to  Miss  Reynolds,  swarmed  up  a 
tree  and  beat  a  young  lady  in  a  foot-race  when  over  fifty.  Langton 
described  to  Best  how  at  the  age  of  fifty-five  he  had  solemnly  rolled 
down  a  hill.  His  courage  was  remarkable;  he  separated  savage 
dogs,  swam  into  dangerous  pools,  fired  off  an  overloaded  gun,  and 
defended  himself  against  four  robbers  single-handed  (ib.  ii.  299). 


THE  LIFE  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  469 

His  physical  infirmities  were  partly  accountable  for  roughness 
of  manner.  He  suffered  from  deafness  and  was  shortsighted  to  an 
extreme  degree,  although  by  minute  attention  he  could  often  per- 
ceive objects  with  an  accuracy  which  surprised  his  friends  (Piozzi, 
Anecdotes,  p.  287;  Miss  REYNOLDS  in  Johns oniana;  MADAME 
D'ARBLAY,  Diary,  i.  85,  ii.  174;  BOSWELL,  i.  41,  &c.).  He  was 
thus  often  unable  to  observe  the  failings  of  his  companions. 
Manners  learnt  in  Grub  Street  were  not  delicate;  his  mode  of 
gratifying  a  voracious  appetite  was  even  disgusting  (BOSWELL,  i. 
468);  while  his  dress  was  slovenly,  and  he  had  'no  passion  for 
clean  linen'  (ib.  i.  397).  He  piqued  himself,  indeed,  upon  his 
courtesy;  and,  when  not  provoked  by  opposition,  or  unable  to 
perceive  the  failings  of  others,  was  both  dignified  and  polite. 
Nobody  could  pay  more  graceful  compliments,  especially  to  ladies, 
and  he  was  always  the  first  to  make  advances  after  a  quarrel. 
His  friends  never  ceased  to  love  him ;  and  their  testimony  to  the 
singular  tenderness  which  underlay  his  roughness  is  unanimous. 
He  loved  children,  and  was  even  too  indulgent  to  them;  he  re- 
joiced greatly  when  he  persuaded  Dr.  Sumner  to  abolish  holi- 
day tasks  (Piozzi,  Anecdotes,  p.  21),  and  was  most  attentive  to 
the  wants  of  his  servants.  He  was  kind  to  animals,  and  bought 
oysters  himself  for  his  cat  Hodge,  that  his  servants  might  not 
be  prejudiced  against  it  (BOSWELL,  iv.  178).  He  loved  the  poor, 
as  Mrs.  Piozzi  says,  as  she  never  saw  any  one  else  do;  and 
tended  to  be  indiscriminate  in  his  charity.  He  never  spent,  he 
says,  more  than  70^.  or  8o/.  of  his  pension  upon  himself.  Miss 
Reynolds  was  first  attracted  by  hearing  that  he  used  to  put  pen- 
nies into  the  hands  of  outcast  children  sleeping  in  the  streets, 
that  they  might  be  able  to  buy  a  breakfast.  Boswell  (iv.  321) 
tells  of  his  carrying  home  a  poor  outcast  woman  from  the  streets 
and  doing  his  best  to  restore  her  to  an  honest  life.  His  services 
to  poor  friends  by  lending  his  pen  or  collecting  money  from  the 
rich  were  innumerable.  His  constantly  expressed  contempt  for 
'sentimental'  grievances  was  not,  as  frequently  happens,  a  mask 
for  want  of  sympathy,  though  it  was  often  so  interpreted.  He 
not  only  felt  for  all  genuine  suffering,  from  death,  poverty,  and 
sickness  to  the  wounded  vanity  of  his  friends,  but  did  his  utmost 
to  alleviate  it. 


470  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

This  depth  of  tender  feeling  was,  in  fact,  the  foundation  of  John- 
son's character.  His  massive  and  keenly  logical,  but  narrow  and 
rigid  intellect,  was  the  servant  of  strong  passions,  of  prejudices 
imbibed  through  early  association,  and  of  the  constitutional  melan- 
choly which  made  him  a  determined  pessimist.  He  feared  mad- 
ness, and  constantly  expressed  his  dread  of  the  next  world,  and 
his  conviction  of  the  misery  of  this.  His  toryism  and  high-church  - 
manship  had  become  part  of  his  nature.  He  looked  leniently 
upon  superstitions,  such  as  ghosts  and  second-sight,  which  ap- 
peared to  fall  in  with  his  religious  beliefs,  while  his  strong  common 
sense  often  made  him  even  absurdly  sceptical  in  ordinary  matters. 
According  to  Mrs.  Piozzi  (Anecdotes,  pp.  138,  141)  he  would  not 
believe  in  the  earthquake  at  Lisbon  for  six  months,  and  ridiculed 
the  statement  that  red-hot  balls  had  been  used  at  the  siege  of 
Gibraltar.  His  profound  respect  for  truth,  emphasised  by  all  his 
friends,  had  made  him  impatient  of  loose  talk,  and  a  rigid  sifter 
of  evidence.  His  melancholy,  as  often  happens,  was  combined 
with  a  strong  sense  of  humour.  Hawkins  (p.  258),  Murphy  (p. 
139),  and  Mrs.  Piozzi  (Anecdotes,  pp.  205,  298)  agree  that  he 
was  admirable  at  sheer  buffoonery,  and  Madame  d'Arblay  de- 
scribes his  powers  of  mimicry.  No  man  could  laugh  more 
heartily;  like  a  rhinoceros,  said  Tom  Davies  (BOSWELL,  ii.  378) ; 
or  as  Boswell  describes  it,  so  as  to  be  heard  from  Temple  Bar 
to  Fleet  Ditch  (ii.  268).  The  faculty  shows  itself  little  in  his 
earlier  writings.  His  sesquipedalian  style  appears  in  his  early 
efforts,  and  seems  to  have  been  partly  caught  from  the  seven- 
teenth-century writers,  such  as  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  whom 
he  studied  and  admired;  and  in  whose  high-built  latinised 
phraseology  there  was  something  congenial.  The  simplicity 
and  clearness  of  the  style  accepted  in  his  youth  affected  his  taste, 
and  he  acquired  the  ponderosity  without  the  finer  qualities  of  his 
model.  His  love  of  talk  diminished  his  mannerism  in  later  years ; 
and,  at  his  worst,  his  phrases  are  not  mere  verbiage,  but  an  awk- 
ward embodiment  of  very  keen  dialectical  power.  The  strong 
sense,  shrewd  and  humorous  observations  which  appear  in  his 
'Lives  of  the  Poets'  give  him  the  very  first  rank  among  all  the 
talkers  of  whom  we  have  any  adequate  report.  Carlyle  calls  him 
the  last  of  the  tories.  He  was  the  typical  embodiment  of  the 


THE  LIFE   OF  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  471 

strength  and  weakness,  the  common  sense  masked  by  grotesque 
prejudice,  and  the  genuine  sentiment  underlying  a  rough  outside, 
which  characterise  the  'true-born  Englishman  of  the  eighteenth 
century.'  He  was  the  first  author  who,  living  by  his  pen  alone, 
preserved  absolute  independence  of  character,  and  was  as  much 
respected  for  his  high  morality  as  for  his  intellectual  power. 

A  full  list  of  Johnson's  works,  drawn  up  by  BOSWELL,  is  in  Hill's 
'Boswell,'  i.  16-24.  The  works,  published  separately,  are:  i. 
Abridgment  and  translation  of  Lobo's  'Voyage  to  Abyssinia,' 
1735.  2.  'London,'  1738.  3.  'Marmor  Norf olciense ;  or  an 
Essay  on  an  Ancient  Prophetical  Inscription  in  Monkish  Rhyme, 
lately  discovered  near  Lynne  in  Norfolk  by  Probus  Britannicus,' 
1739  (also  in  Gent.  Mag.).  4.  'Proposals  for  Publishing  "Biblio- 
theca  Harleiana,"  a  Catalogue  of  the  Library  of  the  Earl  of  Oxford ' 
(also  in  Gent.  Mag.,  and  prefixed  to  first  volume  of  Catalogue), 
1742.  5.  'Life  of  Richard  Savage,'  1744.  6.  'Miscellaneous 
Observations  on  the  Tragedy  of  Macbeth,  with  Remarks  on  Sir 
T[homas]  H[armer's]  Edition  of  Shakespeare,  and  Proposals  for  a 
New  Edition  of  that  Poet,'  1745.  7.  'Plan  for  a  Dictionary 
of  the  English  Language,  addressed  to  Philip  Dormer,  Earl  of 
Chesterfield,'  1747.  8.  'The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  being 
the  Tenth  Satire  of  Juvenal  Imitated,'  1749.  9.  'Irene,'  1749; 
2nd  edit.  1754.  10.  The  'Rambler,'  1750-2  (see  above), 
ii.  Papers  in  the  'Adventurer,'  1753  (see  above).  12.  'A  Dic- 
tionary, with  a  Grammar  and  History  of  the  English  Language,' 

1755.  Five  editions  appeared  during  his  lifetime;    the  eleventh 
in  1816.     A  verbatim  reprint  of    the  author's  last  edition  was 
published  by  Bohn  in  1854.     An  abridgment  by  Johnson  ap- 
peared in  1756  and  was  several  times  reprinted.     Supplements, 
abridgments,  and  editions  by  other  authors  have  also  appeared. 
13.  'Account  of  an  Attempt  to  ascertain  the  Longitude  at  Sea 
.  .  .'   (for  Z.   Williams),   1755    (see    above).      14.    'Life  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,'  prefixed  to  new  edition  of  'Christian  Morals,' 

1756.  15.    'The    Idler,'     1758-1760     (see     above).     16.  'Ras- 
selas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia,'  1759;   a  facsimile  of  the  first  edition, 
with  a  bibliography  by  James  Macaulay,  was  published  in  1884. 
17.   'Life  of  Ascham,'  prefixed  to  'Ascham's  English  Works,' 
by   Bennet,    1763.      18.  'Plays   of    William    Shakespeare,    with 


472  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Notes,'  8  vols.  1765.  19.  'The  False  Alarm,'  1770. 
20.  'Thoughts  on  the  late  Transactions  respecting  Falkland 
Islands,'  1771.  21.  'The  Patriot,'  1774.  22.  'A  Journey 
to  the  Western  Isles  of  Scotland,'  1775.  23.  'Taxation  no 
Tyranny,'  1775.  24.  'Prefaces  Biographical  and  Critical  to 
the  Works  of  the  most  Eminent  English  Poets,'  1779  and  1781. 
Published  separately  as  'Lives  of  the  English  Poets.'  The  edi- 
tion by  Peter  Cunningham  appeared  in  1854;  the  six  chief  lives, 
with  preface  by  Matthew  Arnold,  in  1878,  and  a  complete  edition, 
begun  by  Dr.  Birkbeck  Hill  and  completed  by  H.  Spencer  Scott, 
in  1905  (Oxford,  3  vols.). 

Johnson's  'Prayers  and  Meditations,'  edited  by  G.  Strahan, 
appeared  in  1785;  and  his  'Letters'  to  Madame  Piozzi  in  1788. 
'Sermons  left  for  Publication,'  by  John  Taylor,  which  appeared 
in  1788  and  passed  through  several  editions,  have  also  been  at- 
tributed to  him.  'An  Account  of  the  Life  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 
from  his  Birth  to  his  Eleventh  Year,  written  by  Himself  (1805) 
was  a  fragment  saved  from  some  papers  burnt  by  him  before  his 
death,  and  not  seen  by  Boswell.  Johnson  also  contributed  many 
articles  to  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine'  from  173810  1748;  some 
to  the  'Universal  Visitor'  in  1756;  and  some  to  the  'Literary 
Magazine'  of  the  same  year.  He  wrote  many  prefaces,  dedica- 
tions, and  other  trifles  for  his  friends. 

His  collected  works  were  edited  by  Hawkins  in  1787  in  n  vols., 
to  which  two,  edited  by  Stockdale,  were  added.  Murphy  edited 
them  in.  n  vols.  in  1796.  The  Oxford  edition  of  1825  was  edited 
by  Francis  Pearson  Walesby,  fellow  of  Lincoln  College,  and  pro- 
fessor of  Anglo-Saxon  at  Oxford.  This  contains  the  works  in 
9  vols.,  and  the  'Parliamentary  Debates'  (also  published  sepa- 
rately, 2  vols.  1787)  in  2  vols. 


THE  LIFE   OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY   SHERIDAN       473 

THE  LIFE  OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY 
SHERIDAN 

FRASER  RAE 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.} 

SHERIDAN,  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  (1751-1816),  statesman  and 
dramatist,  born  30  Oct.  1751  at  12  Dorset  Street,  Dublin,  was 
grandson  of  Thomas  Sheridan  (1687-1738)  [q.  v.],  and  son  of 
Thomas  Sheridan  (1719-1788)  [q.  v.].  He  received  the  rudiments 
of  learning  from  his  father,  and  from  the  age  of  seven  till  eight  and 
a  half  attended  a  school  in  Dublin  kept  by  Samuel  Whyte.  Then 
he  rejoined  his  parents,  who  had  migrated  to  London,  and  he  never 
revisited  his  native  city.  In  1762  he  was  sent  to  Harrow  school, 
where  he  remained  till  1768,  two  years  after  his  mother's  death. 
Subsequently  a  private  tutor,  Lewis  Ker,  directed  his  studies  in 
his  father's  house  in  London,  while  Angelo  instructed  him  in 
fencing  and  horsemanship. 

At  the  end  of  1770  Sheridan's  father  settled  in  Bath  and  taught 
elocution.  His  children  became  acquainted  with  those  of  Thomas 
Linley  (1732-1795)  [q.  v.],  a  composer  and  teacher  of  music,  who 
had  given  Sheridan's  mother  lessons  in  singing.  One  of  Sheridan's 
friends  at  Harrow  was  Nathaniel  Brassey  Halhed  [q.  v.],  who  went 
to  Oxford  from  Harrow.  With  him  Sheridan  carried  on  a  corre- 
spondence from  Bath.  They  projected  a  literary  periodical  called 
'Hernan's  Miscellany,'  of  which  the  first  number  was  written 
but  not  published;  and  they  prepared  a  metrical  vers'on  of  the 
epistles  of  Aristaenetus,  which  appeared  in  1771,  and  in  a  second 
edition  in  1773.  Halhed  translated  the  epistles,  and  Sheridan 
revised  and  edited  them.  Another  volume  of  translations  from 
the  same  author  which  Sheridan  undertook  never  saw  the  light. 
A  farce  called  '  Ixion '  was  written  by  Halhed,  recast  by  Sheridan, 
and  renamed  'Jupiter.'  It  was  offered  •  Garrick  and  Foote, 
but  not  accepted  by  either.  Sheridan  wrote  two  sets  of  verses, 
which  appeared  in  the  'Bath  Chronicle'  during  1771 ;  the  title  of 
one  set  was  *  Clio's  Protest  or  the  Picture  Varnished ; '  of  the  other 
'The  Ridotto  of  Bath,'  which  was  reprinted  and  had  a  large  sale. 


474  FRASER  RAE 

Sheridan's  letters  to  Halhed  have  not  been  preserved;  those 
from  Halhed  contain  many  references  to  Miss  Linley,  who  sang 
in  oratorios  at  Oxford,  and  for  whom  Halhed  expressed  great  ad- 
miration, although  he  failed  to  excite  a  corresponding  feeling  in 
her.  Desiring  to  escape  from  the  persecution  of  Major  Mathews, 
an  unworthy  admirer,  Miss  Linley  appealed  to  Sheridan  to  escort 
her  to  France,  where  she  hoped  to  find  refuge  and  repose  in  a 
convent.  The  scheme  had  the  approval  and  support  of  Sheridan's 
sisters.  At  the  end  of  March  1772  Sheridan,  Miss  Linley,  and 
a  lady's  maid  left  Bath  for  London,  where  Mr.  Ewart,  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Sheridan,  gave  them  a  passage  to  Dunkirk  in  one  of  his  vessels. 
Sheridan's  younger  sister,  Elizabeth,  who  was  in  Miss  Linley's 
confidence  as  well  as  her  brother's,  gives  the  following  account  of 
what  followed:  'After  quitting  Dunkirk,  Mr.  Sheridan  was  more 
explicit  with  Miss  Linley  as  to  his  views  in  accompanying  her  to 
France.  He  told  her  that  he  could  not  be  content  to  leave  her  in 
a  convent  unless  she  consented  to  a  previous  marriage,  which  had 
all  along  been  the  object  of  his  hopes ;  and  she  must  be  aware  that, 
after  the  step  she  had  taken,  she  could  not  appear  in  England  but 
as  his  wife.  Miss  Linley,  who  really  preferred  him  greatly  to 
any  person,  was  not  difficult  to  persuade,  and  at  a  village  not  far 
from  Calais  the  marriage  ceremony  was  performed  by  a  priest 
who  was  known  to  be  often  employed  on  such  occasions.'  This 
marriage,  if  contracted  as  described,  was  valid ;  but  neither  of  the 
parties  to  it  regarded  the  ceremony  as  more  binding  than  a  be- 
trothal. Her  own  feelings  were  subsequently  expressed  in  a  letter 
to  him:  'You  are  sensible  when  I  left  Bath  I  had  not  an  idea  of 
you  but  as  a  friend.  It  was  not  your  person  that  gained  my  affec- 
tion. No,  it  was  that  delicacy,  that  tender  compassion,  that  inter- 
est which  you  seemed  to  take  in  my  welfare,  that  were  the  motives 
which  induced  me  to  love  you'  (Biography  of  Sheridan,  i.  255). 

The  lady's  father  followed  the  fugitives  and  took  his  daughter 
back  to  Bath.  Meanwhile  Mathews  had  published  a  letter  de- 
nouncing Sheridan  'as  a  liar  and  a  treacherous  scoundrel,'  and 
on  their  meeting  in  London  a  duel  with  swords  ended  with  the 
disarming  of  Mathews,  who  was  compelled  to  beg  his  life  and  to 
publish  an  apology  in  the  'Bath  Chronicle.'  On  2  July  1772  a 
second  duel  was  fought,  in  which  Sheridan  was  seriously  wounded. 


THE  LIFE   OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN     475 

After  his  recovery,  as  his  father  and  Mr.  Linley  both  objected  to 
his  marrying  Miss  Linley,  he  was  sent  to  Waltham  Abbey  in  Essex 
on  27  Aug.  in  order  that  he  might  continue  his  studies  undisturbed. 
He  remained  at  Waltham  Abbey  till  April  1773,  reading  hard  and 
writing  many  letters  to  his  friends,  of  whom  the  chief  was  Thomas 
Grenville  (1755-1846)  [q.  v.].  He  wrote  to  him:  'I  keep  regular 
hours,  use  a  great  deal  of  exercise,  and  study  very  hard.  There  is 
a  very  ingenious  man  here  with  whom,  besides,  I  spend  two  hours 
every  evening  in  mathematicks,  mensuration,  astronomy.'  Charles 
Brinsley,  the  son  of  Sheridan  by  his  second  marriage,  has  recorded 
that  his  father  left  behind  him  '  six  copybooks,  each  filled  with  notes 
and  references  to  mathematics,  carefully  written  by  Mr.  S.  at  an 
early  age/  that  is,  probably  at  Waltham  Abbey.  He  told  his 
friend  Grenville :  '  I  am  determined  to  gain  all  the  knowledge  that 
I  can  bring  within  my  reach.  I  will  make  myself  as  much  master 
as  I  can  of  French  and  Italian/  Yet  his  inclination  was  for 
the  bar,  and  he  was  entered  at  the  Middle  Temple  on  6 
April  1773. 

On  the  1 3th  of  the  same  month  he  at  length  married  Miss  Linley, 
with  her  father's  consent.  His  own  father  looked  upon  the  union, 
and  wrote  about  it,  as  a  disgrace.  The  young  couple  went  to  live 
at  East  Burnham.  In  the  winter  of  1773  they  lived  with  Stephen 
Storace  [q.  v.]  in  London,  and  in  the  spring  of  1774  took  a  house 
in  Orchard  Street.  Sheridan  wrote  much  at  this  period,  a  scheme 
for  a  training  school  for  children  of  the  nobility  and  comments  on 
Chesterfield's  *  Letters'  being  among  the  subjects  he  treated; 
but  he  published  nothing  with  his  name.  On  17  Nov.  1774  he 
informed  his  father-in-law  that  a  comedy  by  him  would  be  in 
rehearsal  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre  in  a  few  days.  This  comedy 
was  'The  Rivals,'  and  it  was  performed  for  the  first  time  on  17 
Jan.  1775.  It  failed,  was  withdrawn,  and  then  performed  in  a 
revised  version  on  28  Jan.  From  that  date  it  has  remained  one  of 
the  most  popular  among  modern  comedies.  A  farce, '  St.  Patrick's 
Day,  or  the  Scheming  Lieutenant/  was  written  for  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Clinch,  who  had  made  his  mark  in  the  'Rivals'  as  Sir 
Lucius  O 'Trigger,  and  it  was  played  on  2  May.  It  was  favourably 
received,  and  repeated  several  times  at  Covent  Garden.  A  comic 
opera,  'The  Duenna,'  was  represented  at  Covent  Garden  on 


476  FRASER  RAE 

21  Nov.  1775  and  on  seventy-four  other  nights  during  the  season, 
a  success  which  was  then  unprecedented. 

By  the  end  of  1775  Sheridan  had  become  a  favourite  with  play- 
goers. Before  the  end  of  the  next  year  he  was  manager  of  Drury 
Lane  Theatre  in  succession  to  Garrick,  having  entered  into  part- 
nership with  Mr.  Linley  and  Dr.  Ford,  and  become  the  proprietor 
of  Garrick's  share  in  the  theatre,  for  which  Garrick  received 
35,ooo/.  Two  years  later  the  share  of  Lacy,  the  partner  of  Garrick, 
which  was  valued  at  the  same  sum,  was  bought  by  the  new  pro- 
prietors. Mr.  Brander  Mathews  has  pointed  out,  in  his  intro- 
duction to  Sheridan's  'Comedies'  (pp.  30,  31),  that  the  money 
was  chiefly  raised  on  mortgage ;  that  when  Sheridan  bought  one- 
seventh  of  the  shares  in  1776  he  only  had  to  find  i,3oo/.  in  cash; 
and  that  when  he  became  the  proprietor  in  1778  of  the  half  of  the 
shares,  this  sum  was  returned  to  him. 

Drury  Lane  Theatre  was  opened  under  Sheridan's  management 
on  21  Sept.  1776.  A  prelude  written  for  the  occasion  by  Colman, 
containing  a  neat  compliment  to  Garrick,  was  then  performed. 
On  1 6  Jan.  1777  Sheridan  gave  'The  Rivals'  for  the  first  time  at 
Drury  Lane,  and  on  24  Feb.  'A  Trip  to  Scarborough,'  which  he 
had  adapted  from  Vanbrugh's  'Relapse;'  but  he  achieved  his 
crowning  triumph  as  a  dramatist  on  8  May  in  that  year,  when 
'The  School  for  Scandal'  was  put  on  the  stage.  The  play  nar- 
rowly escaped  suppression.  Sheridan  told  the  House  of  Commons 
on  3  Dec.  1793  that  a  license  for  its  performance  had  been  refused, 
and  that  it  was  only  through  his  personal  influence  with  Lord 
Hertford,  the  lord  chamberlain,  that  the  license  was  granted  the 
day  before  that  fixed  for  the  performance.  On  29  Oct.  1779 
Sheridan's  farce,  'The  Critic,'  and,  on  24  May  1799,  his  patriotic 
melodrama,  'Pizarro,'  were  produced  at  Drury  Lane.  With 
'Pizarro'  his  career  as  a  dramatist  ended. 

Sheridan  had  meanwhile  become  as  great  a  favourite  in  society 
and  in  parliament  as  among  playgoers.  In  March  1777  he  was 
elected  a  member  of  the  Literary  Club  on  the  motion  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  and  he  lived  to  be  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  thirty-five 
members.  Having  made  the  acquaintance  of  Charles  James  Fox, 
he  joined  him  in  his  efforts  for  political  reform,  and  desired  to 
enter  parliament  as  his  supporter.  He  failed  in  his  candidature 


THE  LIFE   OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN       477 

for  Honiton,  but  he  was  returned  for  Stafford  on  12  Sept.  1780. 
A  letter  in  his  favour  from  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  proved  of 
great  service.  On  the  proposition  of  Fitzpatrick,  he  was  elected 
a  member  of  Brooks's  Club  on  2  Nov.  1780.  Two  years  before,  he 
had  been  twice  proposed  by  Fox  and  rejected,  the  first  time  on 
28  Nov.,  the  second  on  25  Dec.  1778  (candidates'  book,  Brooks's 
Club). 

His  first  speech  in  parliament  was  made  on  20  Nov.  1780,  in 
defence  of  a  charge  of  bribery  which  Whitworth,  his  defeated 
opponent  at  Stafford,  had  brought  against  him,  and  the  speech 
was  both  well  received  and  successful  in  its  object.  The  allegation 
that  he  had  failed  was  circulated  for  the  first  time  by  Moore  forty- 
five  years  after  the  speech  was  delivered  (cf.  FRASER  RAE,  Biog- 
raphy, i.  359).  He  became  a  frequent  speaker,  and  by  common 
consent  was  soon  ranked  as  highly  among  parliamentary  orators 
as  among  dramatic  writers.  His  opposition  to  the  war  in  America 
was  deemed  so  effective  by  the  representatives  of  congress  that  a 
thank-offering  of  2o,ooo/.  was  made  to  him.  He  wisely  and 
gracefully  declined  to  accept  the  gift  (MooRE,  Diary,  i.  212,  213). 
In  1782  his  marked  abilities  received  more  practical  recognition. 
Lord  Rockingham,  who  then  became  premier  for  the  second  time, 
appointed  him  under-secretary  for  foreign  affairs.  After  the  death 
of  Rockingham  on  i  July,  Shelburne  was  appointed  prime  minister. 
Sheridan,  with  other  colleagues  in  the  Rockingham  administration, 
refused  to  serve  under  him.  But  he  returned  to  office  on  21  Feb. 
1783  as  secretary  to  the  treasury  when  the  coalition  ministry, 
with  the  Duke  of  Portland  as  figure-head,  was  formed.  The 
ministry  was  dismissed  by  the  king  on  the  i8th  of  the  following 
December.  During  the  brief  interval,  Sheridan  addressed  the 
house  twenty-six  times  on  matters  concerning  the  treasury. 

Sheridan  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of  the  Prince  of  Wales 
at  Devonshire  House  soon  after  he  entered  parliament,  and  thence- 
forth acted  as  his  confidential  adviser.  He  gave  advice  and  drafted 
documents  for  the  prince  in  1788,  when  the  king  was  suffering 
from  mental  disorder,  and  it  was  proposed  to  appoint  the  prince 
as  regent  subject  to  certain  restrictions.  With  Fox  and  Lord 
Loughborough  he  injudiciously  upheld  the  right  of  the  prince  to 
assume  the  regency  without  the  sanction  of  parliament.  It  was 


478  FRASER  RAE 

arranged  that,  should  the  king  not  recover  and  should  a  whig 
administration  be  formed  by  the  regent,  the  office  of  treasurer  of 
the  navy  would  be  assigned  to  Sheridan;  but  the  king's  recovery 
rendered  the  plan  nugatory.  Sheridan  was  conspicuous  in  the 
proceedings  against  Warren  Hastings  [q.  v.].  He  attended  the 
committee  which  examined  witnesses  in  connection  with  charges 
whereupon  to  frame  an  impeachment,  and  when  the  articles  were 
settled  it  fell  to  him  to  obtain  the  assent  of  the  house  to  the  one  re- 
lating to  the  begums  or  princesses  of  Oude.  The  speech  in  which 
he  brought  the  matter  before  the  house  on  7  Feb.  1787  occupied 
five  hours  and  forty  minutes  in  delivery,  and  was  one  of  the  most 
memorable  in  the  annals  of  parliament.  When  he  sat  down 
1  the  whole  house  —  the  members,  peers,  and  strangers  —  in- 
voluntarily joined  in  a  tumult  of  applause,  and  adopted  a  mode 
of  expressing  their  approbation,  new  and  irregular  in  that  house, 
by  loudly  and  repeatedly  clapping  their  hands'  (Parliamentary 
Hist.  xxv.  294).  Pitt  moved  the  adjournment  of  the  debate  on  the 
ground  that  the  minds  of  members  were  too  agitated  to  discuss  the 
question  with  coolness  and  judicially.  No  full  report  of  the  speech 
has  been  preserved ;  the  best  appeared  in  the  '  London  Chronicle  ' 
for  8  Feb.  1787.  The  excitement  which  Sheridan  had  aroused  in 
the  House  of  Commons  spread  throughout  the  nation.  Sheridan 
began  his  speech  as  a  manager  of  the  impeachment  in  Westminster 
Hall  on  3  June  1788.  The  event  was  the  topic  of  the  day.  Fifty 
pounds  were  cheerfully  given  for  a  seat.  His  speech  lasted,  not, 
as  Macaulay  wrote,  'two  days,'  but  for  several  hours  on  Tuesday 
the  3rd,  Friday  the  6th,  Tuesday  the  loth,  and  Friday  the  i3thof 
June.  Gibbon  asserted  that  Sheridan  sank  back  into  Burke's 
arms  after  uttering  the  concluding  words,  'My  lords,  I  have  done.' 
Macaulay  repeated  this  story  with  embellishments,  writing  that 
'Sheridan  contrived,  with  a  knowledge  of  stage  effect  which  his 
father  might  have  envied,  to  sink  back,  as  if  exhausted,  into  the 
arms  of  Burke,  who  hugged  him  with  the  energy  of  generous  ad- 
miration' (Collected  Works,  vi.  633).  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  one  of 
the  managers  who  sat  beside  Sheridan,  wrote  to  his  wife,  'Burke 
caught  him  in  his  arms  as  he  sat  down.  ...  I  have  myself  en- 
joyed that  embrace  on  such  an  occasion,  and  know  its  value '  (Life 
and  Letters,  i.  219).  Sheridan  paid  Gibbon  a  graceful  compli- 


THE  LIFE  OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN        479 

ment  by  speaking  of  'his  luminous  page.'  Moore  is  responsible 
for  the  fiction  that  Sheridan  afterwards  said  he  meant  'voluminous.' 
Dudley  Long  told  Gibbon  that  Sheridan  had  spoken  about  his 
'voluminous  pages'  (SiR  GILBERT  ELLIOT,  Life  and  Letters,  i. 
219). 

The  trial  of  Hastings  lasted  till  1794,  and  Sheridan  was  con- 
stant in  attendance.  On  14  May  in  that  year  he  replied  to  the 
arguments  of  Plumer  and  Law,  counsel  for  Hastings,  relative  to  his 
charge  concerning  the  begums,  and  the  speech  which  he  then  de- 
livered was  described  by  Professor  Smyth,  who  heard  it,  as  an 
extraordinary  rhetorical  triumph  (Memoir  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  pp. 
31-5).  While  the  trial  was  in  progress  Sheridan  suffered  much 
domestic  affliction.  His  father  died  at  Margate  on  14  Aug.  1788. 
Sheridan  thereupon  took  charge  of  his  sister  Elizabeth,  and,  on 
her  marriage  with  Henry  Lefanu,  provided  for  her  maintenance. 
His  wife  died  at  Hot  Wells  on  28  June  1792.  He  remarried  on 
27  April  1795,  his  second  wife  being  Esther  Jane,  eldest  daughter 
of  Newton  Ogle,  dean  of  Winchester. 

He  was  unremitting  in  the  discharge  of  his  parliamentary  duties, 
and  he  gave  special  attention  to  finance,  saying  to  Pitt,  on  1 1  March 
1793,  that  he  did  not  require  to  watch  with  vigilance  all  matters 
relating  to  the  public  income  and  outlay,  as  'he  had  uniformly 
acted  on  that  principle  upon  all  revenue  questions.'  He  laboured 
to  abate  the  rigour  of  the  game  laws  and  to  repress  the  practice  of 
gaming.  Whenever  a  question  relating  to  social  improvement  and 
progress  was  before  the  house  he  gave  his  support  to  it,  and  when, 
in  1787,  the  convention  of  Scottish  royal  boroughs  had  failed  in 
getting  a  sympathiser  with  their  grievances,  they  enlisted  him  in 
their  service,  and  they  thanked  him  in  after  days  for  his  earnest- 
ness in  their  cause,  which  he  twelve  times  upheld  in  the  house. 
What  he  had  vainly  urged  between  1787  and  1794  was  effected  for 
the  Scottish  burgesses  in  1833  in  a  reformed  parliament.  The 
parliamentary  reform  which  rendered  this  improvement  possible 
had  been  advocated  by  Sheridan,  and,  when  others  despaired  of 
its  attainment,  he  wrote,  on  21  May  1782,  to  Thomas  Grenville: 
'We  were  bullied  outrageously  about  our  poor  parliamentary 
reform;  but  it  will  do  at  last  in  spite  of  you  all'  (Courts  and 
Cabinets  of  George  III,  i.  28). 


480  FRASER   RAE 

When  the  revolution  in  France  tried  men's  souls  in  Great 
Britain  and  made  many  friends  of  progress  recant  in  a  panic  the 
convictions  of  their  wiser  years,  Sheridan  stood  firm  with  Fox  in 
maintaining  the  right  of  the  French  to  form  their  own  government, 
and  upheld,  with  him,  the  duty  of  this  country  to  recognise  and 
treat  with  any  government  which  exercised  authority  there.  The 
Earl  of  Mornington  (afterwards  Marquis  Wellesley)  made  an 
elaborate  appeal  to  the  house  on  21  Jan.  1794  to  prosecute  the  war 
with  France  till  the  French  should  have  discarded  their  republican 
principles.  The  reply  on  this  occasion  was  one  of  Sheridan's 
finest  debating  speeches,  and  a  most  able  argument  against  ille- 
gitimate interference  with  the  domestic  concerns  of  France.  He 
was  quite  as  ready,  however,  to  oppose  the  French  when  they  began 
to  propagate  their  principles  by  the  sword.  The  fleets  at  Ports- 
mouth and  the  Nore  mutinied  in  May  and  June  1797,  partly  at 
the  instigation  of  French  agents.  Then  Sheridan  gave  warm  sup- 
port and  good  advice  to  the  government,  and  largely  contributed 
to  the  removal  of  the  danger  which  menaced  the  country.  Dundas 
said  on  behalf  of  the  ministry  that  'the  country  was  highly  in- 
debted to  Sheridan  for  his  fair  and  manly  conduct '  (Parliamentary 
Hist,  xxxvi.  804).  When  invasion  was  threatened  in  1803  by 
Bonaparte,  he  urged  unconditional  resistance,  and  declared  in  the 
house  on  10  Aug.  that  no  peace  ought  to  be  made  so  long  as  a 
foreign  soldier  trod  British  soil.  Moreover  he  urged  the  house  to 
encourage  the  volunteers  who  had  assembled  in  defence  of  their 
homes,  while  he  set  the  example  by  acting  as  lieutenant-colonel 
of  the  St.  James's  volunteer  corps.  The  revolt  of  the  Spaniards 
against  the  French  invaders  was  lauded  by  him,  and  he  was  earnest 
in  urging  the  government  to  send  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley  (afterwards 
Duke  of  Wellington)  to  represent  'the  enthusiasm  of  England' 
in  the  cause  of  Spain  struggling  against  the  yoke  of  Bonaparte. 
His  last  speech  in  parliament,  which  was  delivered  on  21  June  1812, 
ended  with  a  heart-stirring  appeal  to  persevere  in  opposing  the 
tyranny  to  which  Bonaparte  was  subjecting  Europe,  and  with  the 
assertion  that,  if  the  British  nation  were  to  share  the  fate  of  others, 
the  historian  might  record  that,  when  after  spending  all  her  treasure 
and  her  choicest  blood  the  nation  fell,  there  fell  with  her  '  all  the 
best  securities  for  the  charities  of  human  life,  for  the  power  and 


THE  LIFE   OF  .RICHARD   BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN        481 

honour,  the  fame,  the  glory,  and  the  liberties  of  herself  and  the 
whole  civilised  world.' 

Sheridan  was  conspicuous  and  energetic  among  the  opponents 
of  the  union  between  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  He  said  on  23 
Jan.  1799,  when  the  subject  was  formally  brought  before  the  house, 
'My  country  has  claims  upon  me  which  I  am  not  more  proud  to 
acknowledge  than  ready  to  liquidate  to  the  full  measure  of  my 
ability.'  He  held  that  the  bargain  concluded  in  1782  between 
the  two  countries  was  final,  and  also  that,  if  a  new  arrangement 
were  to  be  made,  it  should  be  based  on  'the  manifest,  fair,  and 
free  consent  and  approbation  of  the  parliaments  of  the  two  countries.' 
Twenty-five  members  of  parliament  followed  his  lead.  Mr. 
Lecky  affirms  that  he  fought  'a  hopeless  battle  in  opposition  with 
conspicuous  earnestness  and  courage'  (History  of  England  in 
Eighteenth  Century,  viii.  356). 

After  the  union  was  carried  and  Addington  had  succeeded  Pitt 
as  prime  minister,  it  was  in  Sheridan's  power,  as  it  may  have  been 
previously,  to  enter  the  House  of  Lords  by  changing  the  party  to 
which  he  had  belonged  since  entering  political  life,  but  he  then 
declined,  as  he  phrased  it, '  to  hide  his  head  in  a  coronet '  (Memoir 
of  Lady  Dufferin,  by  her  son,  p.  17).  He  sometimes  dined  with 
Addington  when  he  was  premier,  and  Addington  records  that  one 
night  Sheridan  said  to  him,  '  My  visits  to  you  may  possibly  be  mis- 
understood by  my  friends :  but  I  hope  you  know,  Mr.  Addington, 
that  I  have  an  unpurchasable  mind'  (Life  of  Lord  Sidmouth,  ii. 
105).  When  Pitt  died  in  1806  and  the  ministry  of  'all  the  talents' 
was  formed,  Sheridan  held  the  office  in  it  of  treasurer  of  the  navy, 
with  the  rank  of  privy  councillor.  After  Fox's  death  in  the  same 
year  he  succeeded  him  as  member  for  Westminster;  but  he  was 
not  called,  as  he  had  a  right  to  anticipate  he  would  have  been, 
to  lead  the  whig  party  in  the  commons. 

He  was  rejected  for  Westminster  at  the  general  election  in  1807, 
and  found  a  seat  at  Ilchester  which  he  held  till  1812.  He  had  been 
proposed  in  1807  as  a  candidate  for  the  county  of  Wexford  without 
his  knowledge,  and  his  election  seemed  assured,  as  the  electors 
expressed  their  readiness  to  vote  for  'the  great  Sheridan.'  Mr. 
Colclough,  who  proposed  him  as  a  fellow  candidate,  was  challenged 
by  Mr.  Alcock,  one  of  his  opponents,  to  fight  a  duel,  and  was  shot 

21 


482  FRASER  RAE 

through  the  heart.  The  supporters  of  both  Colclough  and  Sheridan 
consequently  held  aloof  from  the  poll,  and  Mr.  Alcock  and  Colonel 
Ram  were  declared  to  have  been  duly  elected  (Personal  Sketches 
of  his  Own  Times,  by  Sir  Jonah  Barrington,  i.  302,  305).  Sheridan 
endeavoured  in  1812  to  be  returned  again  for  Stafford;  but  the 
younger  generation  of  burgesses  was  as  little  disposed  as  the  elder 
to  vote  for  any  candidate  unless  he  paid  each  of  them  the  accustomed 
fee  of  five  guineas,  and,  as  Sheridan  had  not  the  money,  he  lost  the 
election. 

As  a  dramatic  writer  Sheridan  had  no  equal  among  his  con- 
temporaries, and  as  manager  and  chief  proprietor  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre  he  maintained  the  popularity  of  the  theatre  and  obtained 
from  it  an  average  income  of  io,ooo/.  In  1791  the  theatre  was 
pronounced  unsafe,  and  it  had  to  be  pulled  down  and  rebuilt, 
and  the  new  house  was  much  larger  than  the  old  one.  The  esti- 
mated cost  was  i5o,ooo/. ;  this  was  exceeded,  however,  by  75,000^. 
While  the  theatre  was  rebuilding,  the  company  played  at  the  theatre 
in  the  Haymarket,  and  the  expenses  there  exceeded  the  receipts. 
The  first  performance  in  the  new  building  took  place  on  21  April 
1794.  With  mistaken  chivalry  Sheridan  rashly  undertook  to  de- 
fray out  of  his  own  pocket  the  liabilities  which  had  been  incurred 
owing  to  the  expenses  exceeding  -the  estimate.  Whatever  prospect 
he  may  have  had  of  achieving  this  chivalrous  but  quixotic  under- 
taking was  dashed  to  the  ground  on  24  Feb.  1809,  when  the  new 
theatre  was  destroyed  by  fire.  When  the  news  reached  the  House 
of  Commons  that  the  theatre  was  burning,  the  unusual  compliment 
was  paid  him  by  Lord  Temple  and  Mr.  Ponsonby  of  moving  the 
adjournment  of  the  debate  'in  consequence  of  the  extent  of  the 
calamity  which  the  event  just  communicated  to  the  house  would 
bring  upon  a  respectable  individual,  a  member  of  that  house.' 
While  grateful  for  the  kindness  displayed  towards  himself,  he 
objected  to  the  motion  on  the  ground  that  'whatever  might  be 
the  extent  of  the  individual  calamity,  he  did  not  consider  it  of 
a  nature  to  interrupt  their  proceedings.'  Two  years  later  the 
house  displayed  a  like  feeling  of  admiration  and  sympathy.  It  was 
then  proposed  to  authorise  the  building  of  another  theatre,  and 
Sheridan  contended  that  the  proprietors  of  the  Drury  Lane  patent 
ought  to  be  the  persons  entrusted  with  this  privilege.  His  conduct 


THE  LIFE  OF  RICHARD   BR1NSLEY  SHERIDAN        483 

with  regard  to  Drury  Lane  Theatre  was  eulogised  by  political 
opponents  as  well  as  by  political  friends,  General  Tarleton  calling 
upon  the  house  'to  consider  the  immortal  works  of  Mr.  Sheridan 
and  the  stoical  philosophy  with  which  in  that  house  he  had  wit- 
nessed the  destruction  of  his  property.  Surely  some  indulgence  was 
due  to  such  merit.'  (Parl.  Debates,  xix.  1142,  1145). 

None  of  the  many  effective  speeches  which  Sheridan  delivered 
in  the  house  did  him  more  honour,  or  has  given  him  more  deserved 
credit,  than  those  relating  to  the  liberty 'of  the  public  press  at  a  time 
when  the  press  had  fewer  friends  among  statesmen  than  at  present. 
He  was  magnanimous  in  upholding  the  liberty  of  unfettered  print- 
ing, because,  as  he  declared  to  Sir  Richard  Phillips,  his  life  had 
been  made  miserable  by  calumnies  in  the  newspapers.  The  greater 
his  magnanimity  and  statesmanship,  then,  in  declaring,  as  he  did 
in  the  House  of  Commons  on  4  April  1798,  'that  the  press  should 
be  unfettered,  that  its  freedom  should  be,  as  indeed  it  was,  com- 
mensurate with  the  freedom  of  the  people  and  the  well-being  of 
a  virtuous  State;  on  that  account  he  thought  that  even  one  hun- 
dred libels  had  better  be  ushered  into  the  world  than  one  prosecution 
be  instituted  which  might  endanger  the  liberty  of  the  press  of  this 
country. '  At  a  later  day  he  condemned  the  conduct  of  the  benchers 
of  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  shamed  them  into  rescinding  a  regulation 
which  they  had  passed  for  excluding  from  the  bar  any  member 
of  the  inn  who  contributed  to  newspapers. 

His  monetary  affairs,  after  the  burning  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre 
in  1809,  were  greatly  involved,  and  the  sums  owing  to  him  were 
withheld  while  his  creditors  clamoured  for  payment.  A  committee, 
presided  over  by  Mr.  Whitbread,  for  rebuilding  the  theatre  gave 
him  shares  for  much  of  the  amount  due  to  him,  but  by  retaining 
i2,ooo/.  in  cash  hindered  him  from  being  returned  to  parliament 
for  Stafford,  and  caused  him  to  be  arrested  for  debt  in  August  1813, 
when  he  became  an  inmate  of  a  sponging-house  in  Took's  Court, 
Cursitor  Street,  till  Whitbread  handed  over  the  sum  required. 
It  was  not  known  till  after  Whitbread's  self-inflicted  death,  on 
6  July  1815,  that  a  disease  of  the  brain  was  the  explanation  of  some 
actions  which  would  have  been  otherwise  inexplicable.  Sheridan's 
own  health  had  been  impaired  several  years  before  his  life  ended. 
He  had  long  suffered  from  insomnia;  in  his  later  years  varicose 


484  FRASER  RAE 

veins  in  his  legs  gave  him  much  pain  and  made  walking  difficult. 
He  had  always  been  a  jovial  companion,  and  few  who  enjoyed  his 
society  could  have  surmised  that  in  private  he  was  subject  to 
fits  of  depression  which  made  life  a  burden.  In  common  with 
his  contemporaries  he  frequently  drank  wine  to  excess,  yet  without 
drinking  as  much  as  many  others,  a  small  quantity  affecting  him 
more  seriously.  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  records  that  at  a  dinner  in  1788 
Sheridan  drank  much  wine,  but  that  Grey  drank  far  more.  Sheri- 
dan preferred  claret  till  his  later  and  darker  years,  and  then  brandy 
had  a  baneful  fascination  for  him.  Nevertheless,  he  weaned  him- 
self from  the  bad  habit,  and  he  became  very  temperate  latterly, 
drinking  nothing  but  water. 

Mental  worries  about  the  health  of  his  elder  son  Tom,  who  went 
to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  in  1813,  without  being  cured  there  of 
consumption  and  about  the  means  wherewith  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  inexorable  creditors,  to  which  an  abscess  in  the  throat 
added  a  physical  torment,  compelled  him  to  take  to  his  bed  in  the 
spring  of  1816.  He  was  then  occupying  the  house  at  17  Savile 
Row.  A  writ  was  served  upon  him  when  he  could  no  longer  leave 
the  house,  and  the  sheriff's  officer  consented  to  remain  there,  and, 
by  so  doing,  hindered  other  creditors  from  giving  further  annoyance. 
It  was  incorrectly  announced  in  the  newspapers  that  Sheridan 
was  in  dire  poverty,  and  offers  of  assistance  were  made ;  but  these 
were  declined  because  they  were  not  required.  Several  years  after- 
wards a  story  was  circulated  by  Croker,  on  the  authority  of  George 
IV,  to  the  effect  that  Sheridan's  last  hours  upon  earth  were  those 
of  a  neglected  pauper.  The  story  is  the  reverse  of  the  truth. 
Charles  Brinsley,  the  son  of  Sheridan  by  his  second  marriage,  wrote 
from  Fulham  Palace,  on  Sunday,  7  July  1816,  where  his  mother 
and  he  were  staying,  to  his  half-brother  at  the  Cape,  eight  days 
after  their  father's  death,  that  'you  will  be  soothed  by  learning 
that  our  father's  death  was  unaccompanied  by  suffering,  that  he 
almost  slumbered  into  death,  and  that  the  reports  which  you  may 
have  seen  in  the  newspapers  of  the  privations  and  the  want  of 
comforts  which  he  endured  are  unfounded;  that  he  had  every 
attention  and  comfort  that  could  make  a  deathbed  easy.'  Mrs. 
Parkhurst,  who  was  acquainted  with  the  Sheridans,  wrote  to  Dublin 
from  London  to  Mrs.  Lefanu,  his  elder  sister,  a  fortnight  after  his 


THE  LIFE   OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN         485 

death :  '  Mr.  Sheridan  wanted  neither  medical  aid,  the  attention 
of  true  affection,  the  consolations  of  piety,  nor  the  exertions  of 
friendship.  He  had  three  of  the  first  physicians  of  London  every 
day;  his  wife,  his  son,  and  his  brother-in-law  were  constantly 
with  him ;  the  bishop  of  London  (Howley,  afterwards  archbishop 
of  Canterbury)  saw  him  many  times,  and  (Lord)  Lauderdale  did 
all  he  could  for  the  regulation  of  his  affairs.' 

The  funeral  was  arranged  by  Lord  Lauderdale  and  Peter  Moore 
[q.  v.],  member  for  Coventry,  both  being  Sheridan's  old  and  at- 
tached friends,  and  the  coffin  was  taken,  for  the  sake  of  convenience, 
to  Peter  Moore's  house  in  Great  George  Street.  The  remains 
were  laid  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  the  funeral  was  on  a  far 
grander  scale  than  those  of  Pitt  and  Fox,  the  flower  of  the  nobility 
uniting  with  the  most  notable  men  of  letters  and  learning  in  paying 
the  last  homage  to  Sheridan.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  and  his 
brother,  the  Marquis  Wellesley,  who  were  absent,  expressed  in 
writing  their  regret  that  their  absence  was  unavoidable. 

As  a  dramatist  Sheridan  carried  the  comedy  of  manners  in  this 
country  to  its  highest  pitch,  and  his  popularity  as  a  writer  for  the 
stage  is  exceeded  by  that  of  Shakespeare  alone.  As  an  orator  he 
impressed  the  House  of  Commons  more  deeply  than  almost  any 
predecessor,  and  as  a  politician  in  a  venal  age  he  preserved  his 
independence  and  purity.  He  left  debts  which  were  trifling  com- 
pared with  those  of  Pitt,  and  which,  unlike  those  of  Pitt, 
were  defrayed  by  his  family.  He  never  received  a  pension, 
though  he  was  as  much  entitled  to  one  as  Burke.  The  Prince 
of  Wales  induced  him  to  accept  the  office  of  receiver  of  the 
duchy  of  Cornwall,  with  a  salary  of  about  8oo/.,  and  this  he 
enjoyed  for  the  last  few  years  of  his  life.  His  widow  and  his 
son  by  her  inherited  a  property  in  1  nd  which  he  had  bought,  and 
which  sufficed  to  maintain  them  during  the  remainder  of  their  lives. 

Throughout  life  Sheridan  was  the  victim  of  misrepresentation. 
He  declared  to  Sir  Richard  Phillips  in  his  closing  years  that  his 
life  'had  been  miserable  by  calumnies.'  To  these  words,  taken 
from  a  manuscript  by  Sir  Richard  supplied  to  Moore,  but  sup- 
pressed, may  be  added  the  following  from  a  manuscript  which 
Sheridan  left  behind  him :  '  It  is  a  fact  that  I  have  scarcely  ever 
in  my  life  contradicted  any  one  calumny  against  me  ...  I  have 


486  FRASER  RAE 

since  on  reflection  ceased  to  approve  my  own  conduct  in  these 
respects.  Were  I  to  lead  my  life  over  again,  I  should  act  other- 
wise.' After  his  death  many  stories  about  him  have  been  cir- 
culated and  accepted  as  genuine,  though  they  are  counterfeit. 
They  begin  when  he  was  seven  years  old,  and  end  when  he  was  in 
his  coffin;  the  first  being  that  his  mother  told  Samuel  Whyte  he 
was  an  'impenetrable  dunce,'  a  statement  for  which  not  a  shadow 
of  proof  has  been  given ;  and  the  last  that  he  was  arrested  for  debt 
when  laid  out  for  burial,  a  statement  which  is  as  ridiculous  and 
unauthentic  as  the  other.  The  story  is  often  told  of  his  hoaxing 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  many  correspondents  of  *  Notes  and 
Queries'  have  exercised  their  ingenuity  in  describing  the  kind  of 
spurious  or  imitation  Greek  which  he  is  assumed  to  have  used, 
the  truth  being  that  he  once  corrected  Lord  Belgrave,  who  mis- 
applied a  passage  of  Demosthenes,  which  he  had  quoted  in  the 
original.  He  is  finely  characterised  in  a  few  words  written  by 
Mrs.  Parkhurst  in  the  letter  from  which  a  quotation  has  been 
made  above:  'He  took  away  with  him  a  thousand  charitable 
actions,  a  heart  in  which  there  was  no  hard  part,  a  spirit  free  from 
envy  and  malice,  and  he  is  gone  in  the  undiminished  brightness 
of  his  talent,  gone  before  pity  had  withered  admiration.'  On 
the  morning  after  his  death  the  *  Times '  eulogised  him  as  a  member 
of  the  legislature  in  terms  which  could  not  be  justly  applied  to 
many  of  his  colleagues  and  contemporaries :  '  Throughout  a  period 
fruitful  of  able  men  and  trying  circumstances  [he  was  regarded] 
as  the  most  popular  specimen  in  the  British  senate  of  political 
consistency,  intrepidity,  and  honour.' 

Sheridan's  portrait  was  painted  more  than  once  by  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds.  The  finest  example  belonged  to  H.  N.  Pym.,  esq.,  of 
Brasted ;  another  portrait  by  Sir  Joshua  was  engraved  by  W.  Read. 
Both  these  are  reproduced  in  Mr.  Rae's  'Biography,'  together 
with  a  pencil  sketch  attributed  to  the  same  artist.  The  portrait 
by  John  Russell,  R.A.,  is  at  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  and 
a  drawing  of  Sheridan  in  old  age  was  engraved  by  the  artist  George 
Clint.  John  Hoppner  painted  the  second  Mrs.  Sheridan  with  her 
infant  son  Charles. 

A  collected  edition  of  Sheridan's  plays  appeared  at  Dublin  in 
1792-3,  and  in  London  1794.  Of  many  later  editions,  one  was 


THE  LIFE  OF  RICHARD   BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN     487 

edited  by  Moore  in  two  volumes  (1821),  and  to  another  (1840) 
Leigh  Hunt  contributed  a  biographical  notice.  Sheridan's  speeches 
were  edited  'by  a  constitutional  friend'  in  1798  (5  vols.),  and  with 
a  life  in  1816  (5  vols.;  2nd  edit.  1842,  3  vols.).  His  speeches  in  the 
trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  reprinted  from  the  verbatim  shorthand 
report  of  the  proceedings,  were  edited  by  E.  A.  Bond,  London, 
1859-61. 

Sheridan's  only  son,  THOMAS  SHERIDAN  (1775-1817),  usually 
called  Tom,  was  born  on  17  March  1775,  and  died,  as  colonial 
treasurer,  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  on  12  Sept.  1817.  He  was 
very  accomplished  and  a  skilful  versifier;  a  poem  on  the  loss  of 
the  Saldanha  was  printed  and  praised.  He  entered  the  army  and 
was  for  a  time  aide-de-camp  to  Lord  Moira.  In  November  1805 
he  married,  with  his  father's  approval,  Caroline  Henrietta  Callan- 
der,  by  whom  he  had  four  sons  and  three  daughters.  His  wife  is 
separately  noticed.  The  eldest  son,  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 
(d.  1888),  married  in  1835  Marcia  Maria,  only  surviving  child 
and  heiress  of  Lieut. -general  Sir  Colquhoun  Grant  [q.v.]  of  Framp- 
ton  Court,  Dorset,  and  sat  in  parliament  as  member  for  Shaftes- 
bury  from  1845  to  ^52^  and  for  Dorchester  from  1852  to  1868. 
His  son,  Algernon  Thomas  Brinsley  Sheridan  of  Frampton  Court, 
owns  many  of  his  great-grandfather's  papers. 

Tom  Sheridan's  three  daughters  were  noted  for  their  great 
beauty  and  talent.  All  were  married:  the  eldest  became  Lady 
Dufferin,  and  afterwards  Countess  of  Gifford  [see  SHERIDAN, 
HELEN  SELINA];  the  second  became  the  Honourable  Caroline 
Norton  [q.  v.],  and  afterwards  Lady  Stirling-Maxwell  of  Keir; 
and  the  youngest  became  Lady  Seymour,  and  afterwards  Duchess 
of  Somerset  [see  SEYMOUR,  EDWARD  ADOLPHUS]. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB 

ALFRED  AINGER 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

LAMB,  CHARLES  (1775-1834),  essayist  and  humourist,  was  born 
on  10  Feb.  1775  in  Crown  Office  Row  in  the  Temple,  London. 
His  father,  John  Lamb,  who  is  described  under  the  name  of  Lovel 


488  ALFRED  AINGER 

in  Charles  Lamb's  essay  'The  Old  Benchers  of  the  Inner  Temple/ 
was  the  son  of  poor  parents  in  Lincolnshire,  and  had  come  up 
as  a  boy  to  London  and  entered  domestic  service.  He  ultimately 
became  clerk  and  servant  to  Samuel  Salt,  a  bencher  of  the  Inner 
Temple,  and  continued  to  fill  that  position  until  Salt's  death  in 
1792.  He  married  Elizabeth  Field,  whose  mother  was  for  more 
than  fifty  years  housekeeper  at  Blakesware  in  Hertfordshire,  a  few 
miles  from  Ware,  a  dower-house  of  the  Plumers,  a  well-known 
county  family.  This  Mary  Field,  Charles  Lamb's  grandmother, 
played  an  important  part  in  the  early  development  of  his  affec- 
tions, and  is  a  familiar  presence  in  some  of  the  most  character- 
istic and  pathetic  of  his  writings. 

To  John  and  Elizabeth  Lamb,  in  Crown  Office  Row,  were 
born  a  family  of  seven  children,  of  whom  only  three  survived 
their  infancy.  The  eldest  of  these  three  was  John  Lamb,  born 
in  1763;  the  second  Mary  Ann,  better  known  as  Mary,  born  in 
1764;  and  the  third  Charles,  baptised  10  March  1775  'by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Jeffs.'  The  baptisms  of  the  entire  family  duly  appear 
in  the  registers  of  the  Temple  Church,  and  were  first  printed  by 
Mr.  Charles  Kent  in  his  'Centenary  Edition  of  Lamb's  Works' 
in  1875. 

The  block  of  buildings  in  which  Samuel  Salt  occupied  one 
or  more  sets  of  chambers,  and  in  which  the  Lamb  family  were 
born  and  reared,  is  at  the  eastern  end  of  Crown  Office  Row,  and 
though  considerably  modified  since  in  its  interior  arrangements, 
still  bears  upon  its  outer  wall  the  date  1737. 

Charles  Lamb  received  his  earliest  education  at  a  humble 
day-school  kept  by  a  Mr.  William  Bird  in  a  court  leading  out  of 
Fetter  Lane  (see  Lamb's  paper,  'Captain  Starkey,'  in  HONE'S 
Every-day  Book,  21  July  1826).  It  was  a  school  for  both  boys 
and  girls,  and  Mary  Lamb  also  attended  it.  At  the  age  of  seven 
Charles  obtained  a  nomination  to  Christ's  Hospital  (the  'Blue 
Coat  School'),  through  the  influence  of  his  father's  employer, 
and  within  its  venerable  walls  he  passed  the  next  seven  years  of 
his  life,  his  holidays  being  spent  with  his  parents  in  the  Temple 
or  with  his  grandmother,  Mrs.  Field,  in  Hertfordshire. 

What  Charles  Lamb  learned  at  Christ's  Hospital,  what  friend- 
ships he  formed,  and  what  merits  and  demerits  he  detected  in  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB  489 

arrangements,  manners,  and  customs  of  the  school,  are  all  familiar 
to  us  from  the  two  remarkable  essays  he  has  left  us,  '  On  Christ's 
Hospital,  and  the  Character  of  the  Christ's  Hospital  Boys,' 
published  in  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine'  in  1813,  and  the  later 
essay  'Christ's  Hospital  Five- and- thirty  Years  Ago,'  one  of  the 
Elia  series,  in  the  'London  Magazine'  of  November  1820.  On 
the  whole  he  seems  to  have  been  happy  in  the  school,  and  to  have 
acquired  considerable  skill  in  its  special  studies,  notably  in  Latin, 
which  he  was  fond  of  reading,  and  in  a  rough-and-ready  way 
writing,  to  the  end  of  his  life.  At  the  time  of  quitting  the  school 
he  had  not  attained  the  highest  position,  that  of  'Grecian,'  but 
the  nearest  in  rank  to  it,  that  of  deputy  Grecian.  Perhaps  the 
school  authorities  were  not  careful  to  promote  him  to  the  superior 
rank,  seeing  that  he  was  not  to  proceed  to  the  university.  As  a 
Grecian  Lamb  would  have  been  entitled  to  an  exhibition,  but  it 
was  understood  that  the  privilege  was  intended  for  those  who  were 
to  enter  holy  orders,  and  a  fatal  impediment  of  speech  —  an  in- 
surmountable and  painful  stutter  —  made  that  profession  im- 
possible for  him  even  if  his  gifts  and  inclinations  had  pointed  that 
way.  He  left  Christ's  Hospital  in  November  1789,  carrying  with 
him,  among  other  precious  possessions,  the  friendship  of  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge,  a  friendship  destined  to  endure,  and  to  be  the 
main  living  influence  upon  his  mind  and  character  till  the  latest 
year  of  his  life.  Coleridge  was  two  years  Lamb's  senior,  and  re- 
mained at  the  school  till  1792,  when  he  went  to  Cambridge. 

At  the  date  of  Lamb's  leaving  school  his  elder  brother  John  was 
a  clerk  in  the  South  Sea  House,  and  a  humbler  post  in  the  same 
office  was  soon  found  for  Charles  through  the  good  offices  of 
Samuel  Salt,  who  was  a  deputy-governor  of  the  company.  But 
early  in  1792  he  was  appointed  to  a  clerkship  in  the  accountant's 
office  of  the  India  House,  and  remained  a  member  of  the  staff 
for  the  next  thirty  years.  The  court  minutes  of  the  old  India 
House  record  that  on  5  April  1792  'William  Savory,  Charles 
Lamb,  and  Hutcher  Trower'  were  appointed  clerks  in  the  ac- 
countant's office  on  the  usual  terms.  Another  entry  of  three 
weeks  later  tells  that  the  sureties  required  by  the  office  were  in 
Lamb's  case  Peter  Peirson,  esq.,  of  the  Inner  Temple,  and  John 
Lamb  'of  the  Inner  Temple,  gentleman.'  The  name  of  Peter 


4QO  ALFRED   AINGER 

Peirson  recalls  one  of  the  most  touching  passages  in  the  essay  on 
the  'Old  Benchers.' 

Samuel  Salt  died  in  this  same  year,  leaving  various  legacies 
and  other  benefactions  to  his  faithful  clerk  and  housekeeper. 
The  Lamb  family  had  accordingly  to  leave  the  Temple,  and  there 
is  no  record  of  their  place  of  residence  until  1796,  when  we  hear 
of  them  as  lodging  in  Little  Queen  Street,  Holborn.  The  family 
were  poor,  Charles's  salary,  and  what  his  sister  could  earn  by 
needlework,  in  addition  to  the  interest  on  Salt's  legacies,  forming 
their  sole  means  of  subsistence,  for  John  Lamb  the  younger,  a 
fairly  prosperous  gentleman,  was  living  an  independent  life 
elsewhere.  John  Lamb  the  elder  was  old  and  sinking  into  dotage. 
The  mother  was  an  invalid,  with  apparently  a  strain  of  insanity. 
Mary  Lamb  was  overworked,  and  the  continued  strain  and  anx- 
iety began  to  tell  upon  her  mind.  On  22  Sept.  1796  a  terrible 
blow  fell  upon  the  family.  Mary  Lamb,  irritated  with  a  little 
apprentice-girl  who  was  working  in  the  family  sitting-room, 
snatched  a  knife  from  the  table,  pursued  the  child  round  the  room, 
and  finally  stabbed  her  mother,  who  had  interposed  in  the  girl's 
behalf.  The  wound  was  instantly  fatal,  Charles  being  at  hand 
only  in  time  to  wrest  the  knife  from  his  sister  and  prevent  further 
mischief.  An  inquest  was  held  and  a  verdict  found  of  temporary 
insanity.  Mary  Lamb  would  have  been  in  the  ordinary  course  trans- 
ferred to  a  public  lunatic  asylum,  but  interest  was  made  with  the 
authorities,  and  she  was  given  into  the  custody  of  her  brother,  then 
only  just  of  age,  who  undertook  to  be  her  guardian,  an  office  which 
he  discharged  under  the  gravest  difficulties  and  discouragements 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Mrs.  Lamb  was  buried  in  the  grave- 
yard of  St.  Andrew's,  Holborn,  on  26  Sept.  1796,  and  Charles 
Lamb,  with  his  imbecile  father  and  an  old  Aunt  Hetty,  who  formed 
one  of  the  household,  left  Little  Queen  Street.  (The  house  no 
longer  stands,  having  been  removed  with  others  to  make  room  for 
a  church,  which  now  stands  on  its  site.)  The  family  removed 
to  45  Chapel  Street,  Pentonville,  with  the  exception  of  Mary, 
who  was  placed  under  suitable  care  at  Hackney,  where  Charles 
could  frequently  visit  her.  In  February  1797  old  Aunt  Hetty 
died,  and  Charles  was  left  as  the  solitary  guardian  of  his  father 
until  the  latter 's  death  in  1799. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB 


491 


The  letters  of  Charles  Lamb,  through  which  his  life  may  be 
henceforth  studied,  open  with  a  correspondence  with  Coleridge, 
beginning  in  May  1796.  The  earliest  of  these  letters  records  how 
Charles  Lamb  himself  had  been  for  six  weeks  in  the  winter  of 
1795-6  in  an  asylum  for  some  form  of  mental  derangement, 
which,  however,  seems  never  to  have  recurred.  It  is  likely  that  this 
tendency  was  inherited  from  the  mother,  and  that  moreover  the 
immediate  cause,  in  this  case,  may  have  been  a  love  disappoint- 
ment. This  at  least  is  certain,  that  already  Charles  Lamb  had 
lost  his  heart  to  a  girl  living  not  far  from  Blakesware,  his  grand- 
mother's home  in  Hertfordshire.  The  earliest  intimation  of  the 
fact  is  afforded  by  the  existence  of  two  sonnets  which  Lamb  sub- 
mits to  Coleridge  in  1796  as  having  been  written  by  him  in  the 
summer  of  1795  (see  Lamb's  Letters,  i.  4).  Both  poems  refer  to 
Hertfordshire,  and  the  second  distinctly  reveals  an  attachment  to 
a  'gentle  maid'  named  Anna,  who  had  lived  in  a  'cottage,' 
and  with  whom  'in  happier  days'  he  had  held  free  converse, 
days  which,  however,  'ne'er  must  come  again.'  At  that  early 
date,  therefore,  it  is  clear  that  the  course  of  love  had  not  run 
smooth,  and  it  is  reasonable  to  connect  Lamb's  mental  break- 
down in  the  following  winter  with  this  cause.  A  year  later,  in 
writing  to  Coleridge  after  his  mother's  death,  he  speaks  of  his 
attachment  as  a  folly  that  has  left  him  for  ever.  All  that  is  cer- 
tain of  this  episode  in  Lamb's  life  is  that  the  girl's  name  was  Ann 
Simmons,  that  she  lived  with  her  mother  in  a  cottage  called  Blen- 
heims, within  a  mile  of  Blakesware  House,  and  that  she  ultimately 
married  a  Mr.  Bartram,  a  silversmith,  of  Princes  Street,  Leicester 
Square  (she  is  mentioned  under  that  name  in  the  essay  'Dream 
Children').  Thus  far  all  is  certain.  The  whole  pedigree  of 
the  Simmons  family  is  in  the  present  writer's  possession,  but  an 
old  inhabitant  of  Widford  (the  village  adjoining  Blakesware),  and 
intimate  friend  of  the  Lambs,  from  whom  he  obtained  it,  had 
never  heard  of  the  circumstances  attending  Lamb's  unsuccessful 
wooing. 

In  the  spring  of  1796  Coleridge  made  his  earliest  appearance  as 
a  poet  in  a  small  volume  published  by  Cottle  of  Bristol,  '  Poems 
on  Various  Subjects,  by  S.  T.  Coleridge,  late  of  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,'  and  among  these  were  four  sonnets  by  Lamb.  'The 


492  ALFRED  AINGER 

effusions  signed  C.  L.  were  written  by  Mr.  Charles  Lamb  of  the 
India  House.  Independently  of  the  signature,  their  superior 
merit  would  have  sufficiently  distinguished  them.'  Two  of  these 
sonnets  refer  also  to  Anna  with  the  fair  hair  and  the  blue  eyes. 
This  was  Lamb's  first  appearance  in  print.  The  sonnets  are 
chiefly  remarkable  as  reflecting  the  diction  and  the  graceful 
melancholy  of  William  Lisle  Bowles  [q.  v.],  whose  sonnets  had  in 
a  singular  degree  influenced  and  inspired  both  Lamb  and  Coleridge 
while  they  were  still  at  Christ's  Hospital.  A  year  later,  in  1797, 
Coleridge  produced  a  second  edition  of  his  poems,  'To  which 
are  now  added  Poems  by  Charles  Lamb  and  Charles  Lloyd' 
(I775~I^39)  fa-  v-l-  Among  these  were  included  the  'Anna' 
sonnets,  and  the  lines  entitled  'The  Grandame,'  written  on  his 
grandmother,  Mrs.  Field,  who  had  died  at  Blakesware  in  1792. 
(These  latter  had  already  appeared  in  print,  in  a  handsome  quarto, 
with  certain  others  of  Charles  Lloyd's.) 

In  the  summer  of  1797  Lamb  devoted  his  short  holiday  (only 
one  week)  to  a  visit  to  Coleridge  at  Nether  Stowey,  where  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Thomas  Poole  [q.  v.],  and  met  Wordsworth 
and  others  (see  MRS.  SANDFORD,  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends; 
and  Lamb's  Letters,  i.  79).  The  following  year,  1798,  saw  the 
publication  of  a  thin  volume,  'Blank  Verse,  by  Charles  Lamb 
and  Charles  Lloyd,'  containing  the  touching  verses  on  the  'Old 
Familiar  Faces.'  Later  appeared  Lamb's  prose  romance,  'A 
Tale  of  Rosamund  Gray  and  Old  Blind  Margaret,'  a  story  of 
sentiment  written  under  the  influence  of  Mackenzie,  and  having 
the  scene  laid  in  Lamb's  favourite  village  of  Widford  in  Hertford- 
shire. During  this  year  Cottle  of  Bristol  had  a  portrait  taken  of 
Lamb  by  Hancock,  an  engraving  of  which  appeared  many  years 
later  in  Cottle's  'Recollections  of  Coleridge.'  This  is  the  earliest 
portrait  of  Lamb  we  possess.  In  November  1798  Coleridge, 
with  Wordsworth  and  his  sister,  left  England  for  Germany,  and 
for  the  next  eighteen  months  Lamb  was  thrown  for  literary  sym- 
pathy upon  other  friends,  notably  on  Southey,  with  whom  he 
began  a  frequent  correspondence.  In  these  letters  Lamb's  in- 
dividuality of  style  and  humour  became  first  markedly  apparent. 

In  the  spring  of  1799  Lamb's  father  died,  and  Mary  Lamb 
returned  to  live  with  her  brother,  from  whom  she  was  never  again 


THE  LIFE   OF  CHARLES  LAMB  493 

parted,  except  during  occasional  returns  of  her  malady.  But 
rumours  of  this  malady  followed  them  wherever  they  went.  They 
had  notice  to  quit  their  rooms  in  Pentonville  in  the  spring  of  1799, 
and  they  were  accepted  as  tenants  for  a  while  by  Lamb's  old 
school-fellow,  John  Mathew  Gutch  [q.  v.],  then  a  law-stationer 
in  Southampton  Buildings,  Holborn.  Here  they  remained  for 
nine  months,  but  the  old  difficulties  arose,  and  the  brother  and 
sister  were  again  homeless.  Lamb  then  turned  to  the  familiar 
precincts  of  the  Temple,  and  took  rooms  at  the  top  of  King's 
Bench  Walk  (Mitre  Court  Buildings),  where  he  remained  with 
his  sister  for  nearly  nine  years.  They  then  removed  to  Inner 
Temple  Lane  for  a  period  of  another  nine  years. 

Lamb's  letters  to  Thomas  Manning  [q.  v.],  the  mathematician 
and  orientalist,  and  to  Coleridge  on  his  return  from  Germany, 
begin  at  the  date  of  his  settling  in  the  Temple,  and  continue  the 
story  of  his  life.  Manning's  acquaintance  he  had  made  at  Cam- 
bridge while  visiting  Charles  Lloyd.  Lamb  now  began  to  add  to 
his  scanty  income  by  writing  for  the  newspapers  (see  his  Elia 
essay,  Newspapers  Thirty-Jive  Years  Ago}.  He  contributed  for 
some  three  years  facetious  paragraphs  and  epigrams  to  the  '  Morn- 
ing Post,'  ' Morning  Chronicle,'  and  the  'Albion.'  In  1802 
he  published  his  'John  Woodvil,'  a  blank-verse  play  of  the 
Restoration  period,  but  showing  markedly  the  influence  of  Mas- 
singer  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  full  of  felicitous  lines,  but  crude 
•and  undramatic.  It  was  reviewed  in  the  'Edinburgh  Review,' 
April  1803,  not  unfairly,  but  ignorantly.  The  Elizabethan  drama- 
tists were  still  sealed  books  save  to  the  antiquary  and  the 
specialist.  Meantime  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb  were  struggling 
with  poverty,  and  with  worse  enemies.  Lamb's  journalistic  and 
literary  associates  made  demands  on  his  hospitality,  and  good 
company  brought  its  temptations.  In  1804  Mary  Lamb  writes 
that  they  are  'very  poor,'  and  that  Charles  is  trying  in  various 
ways  to  earn  money.  He  was  still  dreaming  of  possible  dramatic 
successes,  but  these  were  not  to  be.  In  1803  he  sends  Manning  his 
well-known  verses  on  Hester  Savory,  a  young  quakeress  with 
whom  he  had  fallen  in  love,  though  without  her  knowledge,  when 
he  lived  (1797-1800)  at  Pentonville,  and  who  had  recently  died  a 
few  months  after  her  marriage.  In  September  1805  he  is  still 


494  ALFRED  AINGER 

thinking  of  dramatic  work,  and  has  a  farce  in  prospect.  The 
project  took  shape  in  the  two-act  farce,  'Mr.  H.,'  accepted  by 
the  proprietors  of  Drury  Lane,  and  produced  on  10  Dec.  The 
secret  of  Mr.  H's  real  name  (Hogsflesh)  seemed  trivial  and  vulgar 
to  the  audience,  and  in  spite  of  Elliston's  best  efforts,  the  farce  was 
hopelessly  damned.  Lamb  was  himself  present,  and  next  day  re- 
corded the  failure  by  letter  to  several  of  his  friends.  He  now 
turned  to  a  wider  field  of  work  in  connection  with  the  drama.  He 
made  Hazlitt's  acquaintance  in  1805,  and  Hazlitt  introduced  him 
to  William  Godwin,  who  had  turned  children's  publisher.  For 
Godwin  Lamb  and  his  sister  agreed  to  write  the  'Tales  from 
Shakespeare,'  published  in  January  1807,  a  second  edition  fol- 
lowing in  the  next  year.  Lamb  did  the  tragedies  and  Mary  the 
comedies.  This  was  Lamb's  first  success,  and  first  brought  him 
into  serious  notice.  .  It  was  followed  by  a  child's  version  of  the 
adventures  of  Ulysses,  made  from  Chapman's  translation  of  the 
'Odyssey,'  for  Lamb's  knowledge  of  Greek  was  moderate. 
This  appeared  in  1808.  A  much  more  important  work  was  at 
hand.  The  publishing  house  of  Longmans  commissioned  him 
to  edit  selections  from  the  Elizabethan  dramatists.  This  also 
appeared  in  1808,  under  the  title  of  'Specimens  of  English  Dra- 
matic Poets  contemporary  with  Shakespeare.'  Lamb  was  at  once 
recognised  as  a  critic  of  the  highest  order,  and  of  a  kind  as  yet 
unknown  to  English  literature,  and  from  this  time  forward  his 
position  as  a  prose  writer  of  marked  originality  was  secure  among 
the  more  thoughtful  of  his  contemporaries,  though  it  was  not  till 
some  ten  years  later  that  he  reached  the  general  public.  Between 
1808  and  1818  his  chief  critical  productions  were  the  two  noble 
essays  on  Hogarth  and  on  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare,  published 
in  Leigh  Hunt's  'Reflector'  in  1811,  while  the  'Recollections 
of  Christ's  Hospital,'  in  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine'  of  1813, 
and  the  'Confessions  of  a  Drunkard,'  contributed  to  his  friend 
Basil  Montagu's  'Some  Enquiries  into  the  Effects  of  Fermented 
Liquors'  in  1814,  were  the  first  specimens  of  the  miscellaneous 
essay  in  the  vein  he  was  to  work  later,  with  such  success,  in  the 
'Essays  of  Elia.'  Meantime  he  was  strengthening  his  position 
and  widening  his  interests  by  new  and  stimulating  friendships, 
Talfourd,  Proctor,  Crabb  Robinson,  Haydon,  and  others  appearing 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB  495 

among  his  correspondence,  while  the  old  relations  with  the  Words- 
worths  and  Coleridge  remained  among  the  best  influences  of  his 
life. 

In  the  autumn  of  1817  Lamb  and  his  sister  left  the  Temple  for 
lodgings  in  Great  Russell  Street,  Covent  Garden.  Soon  after 
a  young  bookseller,  Charles  Oilier,  induced  him  to  publish  a 
collection  of  his  miscellaneous  writings  in  verse  and  prose,  includ- 
ing some,  like  'John  WoodviP  and  *  Rosamund  Gray,'  long  out 
of  print.  These  appeared  in  two  volumes,  dedicated  to  Coleridge, 
in  1818,  and  at  once  obtained  for  Lamb  a  wider  recognition.  A 
more  important  result  was  to  follow.  The  'London  Magazine' 
made  its  first  appearance  in  January  1820.  Hazlitt,  who  was 
on  the  staff,  introduced  Lamb  to  the  editor,  John  Scott,  and  he 
was  invited  to  contribute  occasional  essays.  The  first  of  these, 
'Recollections  of  the  South  Sea  House,'  appeared  in  August  1820. 
In  writing  the  essay,  Lamb  remembered  an  obscure  clerk  in  that 
office  during  his  own  short  connection  with  it  as  a  boy,  of  the  name 
of  Elia,  and  as  a  joke  appended  that  name  to  the  essay.  In  subse- 
quent essays  he  continued  the  same  signature,  which  became 
inseparably  connected  with  the  series  (see  letter  of  Lamb  to  his 
publisher,  John  Taylor,  in  July  1821).  'Call  him  Ellia,'  writes 
Lamb,  and  it  seems  probable  that  the  name  was  really  thus  spelled. 
Between  August  1820  and  December  1822  Lamb  contributed 
five-and-twenty  essays,  thus  signed,  at  the  rate  of  about  one  a 
month.  These  were  reprinted  in  a  single  volume  in  1823:  'Elia 
-Essays  that  have  appeared  under  that  signature  in  the  "Lon- 
don Magazine."  ' 

Meantime,  Lamb's  elder  brother  John  had  died  (November 
1821),  and  to  the  increasing  loneliness  of  his  existence  we  owe 
the  beautiful  essay,  'Dream  Children.'  In  1822  Charles  and 
his  sister  for  the  first  time  went  abroad,  paying  a  short  visit  to 
their  friend  James  Kenney  [q.  v.]  the  dramatist,  who  lived  at  Ver- 
sailles, and  whose  son,  born  in  1823,  was  christened  Charles 
Lamb  Kenney  [q.  v.].  During  his  absence  from  England  Mary 
Lamb  had  one  of  her  now  more  frequent  attacks  of  mental  de- 
rangement. The  next  year  brought  a  new  anxiety  into  Lamb's 
life,  in  the  form  of  a  criticism  from  the  pen  of  an  old  friend  on 
the  'Elia'  volume  of  1823.  Southey,  in  reviewing  a  work  by 


496  ALFRED  AINGER 

Gregoire  upon  deism  in  France,  drew  a  moral  from  the  hopeless 
tone  of  one  of  Lamb's  essays  —  that  on  'Witches  and  other  Night 
Fears'  —  adding  that  the  essays  as  a  whole  lacked  a  'sound  re- 
ligious feeling.'  The  charge  pained  Lamb  keenly,  both  as  com- 
ing from  an  old  friend  and  as  touching  a  vein  of  real  sorrow  and 
anxiety  in  his  mental  history.  He  replied  to  the  charge  in  the 
well-known  '  Letter  of  Elia  to  Robert  Southey,  Esq.,'  in  the  'Lon- 
don Magazine'  for  October  1823.  Southey,  in  reply,  wrote  a 
loving  and  generous  letter  of  explanation  to  Lamb,  and  the  breach 
between  the  old  friends  was  at  once  healed.  The  same  year  that 
brought  Lamb  this  distress  was  to  bring  compensation  in  a  new 
interest  added  to  his  life.  He  and  his  sister  were  in  the  habit 
of  spending  their  autumn  holiday  in  Cambridge,  where  they  had 
a  friend,  Mrs.  Paris,  sister  of  Lamb's  old  friend,  William  Ayrton. 
Here  the  Lambs  met  a  little  orphan  girl,  Emma  Isola,  daughter 
of  Charles  Isola,  one  of  the  esquire  bedells  of  the  university.  They 
invited  her  to  spend  subsequent  holidays  with  them,  and  finally 
adopted  her.  During  the  remaining  ten  years  of  Lamb's  life 
the  companionship  of  the  young  girl  supplied  the  truest  solace  and 
relief  amid  the  deepening  anxieties  of  the  home  life.  Lamb  and 
his  sister  devoted  themselves  to  her  education,  and  though  in 
after  years  she  left  them  at  times  to  become  herself  a  teacher  of 
others,  their  house  was  her  home  until  her  marriage  with  Edward 
Moxon,  the  publisher,  in  1833.  Mrs.  Moxon  died  in  March  1891. 
In  August  1823  the  Lambs  left  their  rooms  in  Russell  Street, 
Covent  Garden,  'over  the  Brazier's,'  and  took  a  cottage  in 
Colebrooke  Row,  Islington,  the  New  River  flowing  at  the  foot 
of  their  garden.  Lamb  describes  the  house  in  a  letter  of  2  Sept. 
to  Bernard  Barton  [q.  v.],  the  quaker  poet  of  Woodbridge,  who 
was  one  of  Lamb's  later  friends,  acquired  through  the  'London 
Magazine.'  To  him  many  of  Lamb's  happiest  letters  are  ad- 
dressed. Meantime  Lamb  was  writing  more  'Elia'  essays, 
though  with  weakening  health  and  increasing  restlessness.  Al- 
ready he  was  considering  the  chances  of  retirement  from  the  India 
House,  and  a  severe  illness  in  the  winter  of  1824-25  brought 
the  matter  to  an  issue.  His  doctors  urgently  supported  his  appli- 
cation to  the  directors,  and  the  happy  result  was  made  known  to 
him  in  March  1825,  when  it  was  announced  that  a  retiring  pen- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB  497 

sion  would  be  awarded  him,  consisting  of  three-fourths  of  his 
salary,  with  a  slight  deduction  to  insure  an  allowance  for  his  sister 
in  the  event  of  her  surviving.  'After  thirty-three  years'  slavery,' 
he  wrote  to  Wordsworth,  'here  am  I  a  freed  man,  with  44i/.  a 
year  for  the  remainder  of  my  life.'  The  first  use  that  Lamb  made 
of  his  freedom  was  to  pay  visits  of  varying  length  in  the  country, 
always  in  the  direction  of  his  favourite  Hertfordshire.  The  brother 
and  sister  took  lodgings  occasionally  at  the  Chace,  Enfield,  and 
after  two  years  became  sole  tenants  of  the  little  house.  Meantime 
the  trials  of  having  nothing  to  do  became  very  real  to  them  both. 
Lamb  was  an  excellent  walker,  and  in  the  summer  months  he 
found  great  pleasure  in  exploring  the  scenery  of  Hertfordshire, 
with  the  comforting  remembrance  that  he  was  still  in  easy  touch 
with  London  and  friends.  But  old  friends  were  dying,  and  Lamb's 
loyal  nature  found  little  compensation  in  the  cultivation  of  new 
ones.  That  devoted  friend  of  his  childhood,  Mr.  Randal  Norris, 
sub-treasurer  of  the  Inner  Temple,  died  in  January  1827,  and  is 
the  subject  of  a  pathetic  letter  to  Crabb  Robinson  —  'To  the  last 
he  called  me  Charley.  I  have  none  to  call  me  Charley  now.' 
Randal  Norris  left  two  daughters  who  set  up  a  school  at  Widford, 
to  which  village  their  mother  had  belonged.  The  younger,  Mrs. 
Arthur  Tween,  who  was  well  known  to  the  present  writer,  died  at 
an  advanced  age  at  Widford  in  July  1891.  During  the  few  remain- 
ing years  of  Lamb's  life  it  was  a  favourite  excursion  for  him  and 
Miss  Isola  to  walk  over  to  Widford  and  beg  a  half -holiday  for  the 
girls  and  tell  them  stories. 

In  1828  Lamb  obtained  some  literary  work  of  a  kind  thoroughly 
congenial.  He  wished  to  assist  Hone,  then  producing  his  'Table 
Book,'  and  undertook  to  make  extracts  (after  the  model  of  his 
'Dramatic  Specimens'  of  1808)  from  the  Garrick  plays  in  the 
British  Museum.  He  had  written  also  for  the  'New  Monthly 
Magazine,'  in  1826,  his  essays  called  'Popular  Fallacies.'  He 
wrote  also  occasional  verse,  and  at  times  in  his  happiest  and  most 
characteristic  vein,  such  as  the  lines  '  On  an  Infant  dying  as  soon 
as  born,'  written  on  the  death  of  Thomas  Hood's  first  child,  in 
1828.  Acrostics  also,  and  other  such  trifles,  and  album  verses, 
became  increasingly  in  request  among  his  young  lady  friends. 
And  in  1830,  to  help  his  friend  Moxon,  then  newly  starting  as 

2K 


498  ALFRED  AINGER 

publisher,  he  made  a  collection  of  these,  under  the  title  of  '  Album 
Verses,  with  a  few  others.'  In  the  summer  of  1829  the  brother 
and  sister  had  again  to  change  their  residence.  Mary's  health 
was  steadily  weakening,  her  attacks  and  periods  of  absence  from 
home  became  longer,  and  the  cares  of  housekeeping  proved  in- 
tolerable. They  moved,  accordingly,  to  the  adjoining  house  in 
Enfield  Chace,  and  boarded  with  a  retired  tradesman  and  his  wife, 
a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Westwood.  The  immediate  effects  were  satis- 
factory, and  for  a  while  Mary  Lamb  seemed  to  improve  in  health 
and  spirits.  But  Charles  meantime  became  less  at  ease  in  country 
life.  The  next  year  brought  him  new  distractions.  Emma  Isola, 
for  whom  the  Lambs  had  found  a  situation  as  governess  in  Suffolk, 
had  a  serious  illness,  during  which  Lamb  visited  her,  and  finally 
brought  her  home,  convalescent,  to  Enfield.  In  1833  the  Lambs 
moved  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time.  Mary's  improvement 
in  health  had  been  merely  temporary,  and  it  became  necessary 
for  her  to  be  under  more  skilful  and  constant  nursing.  During 
previous  illnesses  she  had  been  placed  under  the  care  of  a  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Walden,  at  Bay  Cottage,  Edmonton  (the  parish  adjoining 
Enfield),  and  now  the  brother  and  sister  moved  together,  to  spend, 
as  it  proved,  the  last  two  years  of  their  united  lives  under  the 
Waldens'  roof. 

In  the  same  year  Emma  Isola  became  engaged  to  Edward 
Moxon,  and  the  marriage  took  place  in  July  1833,  leaving  Charles 
Lamb  yet  more  lonely,  and  without  social  resource.  The  'Last 
Essays  of  Elia,'  mainly  from  the  'London  Magazine,'  were  pub- 
lished this  year  by  Moxon,  and  but  for  an  occasional  copy  of  verses 
for  a  friend's  album,  Lamb's  literary  career  was  closed.  In  July 
1834  Coleridge  died,  and  with  this  event  Lamb's  last  surviving 
friend  passed  from  him.  He  himself,  more  and  more  lonely  and 
forlorn,  bore  his  heavy  burden  five  months  longer.  One  day 
in  December,  while  walking  on  the  London  Road,  he  stumbled 
and  fell,  slightly  wounding  his  face.  A  few  days  later  erysipelas 
supervened,  and  he  had  no  strength  left  to  battle  with  the  disease. 
He  passed  away  without  pain,  on  27  Dec.  1834,  and  was  buried 
in  Edmonton  churchyard.  His  sister  survived  him  nearly  thirteen 
years,  dying  at  Alpha  Road,  St.  John's  Wood,  on  20  May  1847; 
she  was  buried  beside  her  brother.  Charles  left  her  his  savings, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB  499 

amounting  to  about  2,ooo/.,  and  she  was  also  entitled  to  the  pen- 
sion reserved  to  her  by  the  terms  of  Lamb's  retirement  from  the 
India  House. 

No  figure  in  literature  is  better  known  to  us  than  Lamb.  His 
writings,  prose  and  verse,  are  full  of  personal  revelations.  We 
possess  a  body  of  his  correspondence,  also  of  the  most  confidential 
kind,  and  his  friends  have  left  descriptions  of  him  from  almost 

I    every  point  of  view.     He  numbered  among  his  earliest  friends 

|  Coleridge,  Southey,  Wordsworth,  and  among  his  later  Proctor, 
Talfourd,  Hood,  Leigh  Hunt,  Hazlitt,  Crabb  Robinson,  while 
many  of  his  most  characteristic  letters  were  written  to  men  who 
have  attained  general  fame  mainly  through  Lamb's  friendship. 
Notable  among  these  are  Thomas  Manning  and  Bernard  Barton. 
No  man  was  ever  more  loved  by  a  wide  and  varied  class  of  friends. 
His  lifelong  devotion  to  his  sister,  for  whose  sake  he  abjured  all 
thoughts  of  marriage;  the  unique  attachment  between  the  pair; 
Lamb's  unfailing  loyalty  to' his  friends,  who  often  levied  heavy 
taxes  on  his  purse  and  leisure;  his  very  eccentricities  and  petu- 
lances, including  his  one  serious  frailty  —  a  too  careless  indul- 
gence in  strong  drinks  —  excited  a  profound  pity  in  those  who 
knew  the  unceasing  domestic  difficulties  which  he  surmounted 
so  bravely  for  eight-and-thirty  years.  It  is  likely  that  the  necessity 
of  protecting  and  succouring  his  sister  acted  as  a  strong  power 
over  his  will,  and  helped  to  preserve  his  sanity  during  the  hardship 
of  the  years  that  followed.  But  one  result  of  the  taint  of  insan- 

!  ity  inherited  from  his  mother  was  that  a  very  small  amount  of 
alcohol  was  enough  at  any  time  to  throw  his  mind  off  its  balance. 

I  He  was  afflicted  moreover,  all  his  life  with  a  bad  stutter,  and  the 
eagerness  to  forget  the  impediment,  which  put  him  at  a  disadvan- 
tage in  all  conversations,  probably  further  encouraged  the  habit. 
The  infirmity,  which  has  been  in  turn  denied  and  exaggerated  by 

:  friends  and  enemies,  never  interfered  with  the  regular  performance 
of  his  official  duties,  or  with  his  domestic  responsibilities. 

The  extant  portraits  of  Lamb  are  the  following :  i .  By  Robert 
Hancock  of  Bristol,  1798,  drawn  for  Joseph  Cottle;  in  the  Na- 
tional Portrait  Gallery.  2.  By  Wm.  Hazlitt,  1805,  in  a  fancy 
dress;  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery.  3.  By  G.  F.  Joseph, 
A.R.A.,  1819;  water-colour  drawing  made  to  illustrate  a  copy  of 


500  ALFRED  AINGER 

'English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers;'  in  the  British  Museum. 
4.  Etching  on  copper  by  Brook  Pulham,  a  friend  of  Lamb's  in 
the  India  House,  1825.  5.  By  Henry  Meyer,  1826;  in  the  India 
Office :  of  two  small  replicas  one  is  in  the  National  Portrait  Gal- 
lery and  the  other  belongs  to  Sir  Charles  Dilke,  bart,  M.P.  6.  By 
T.  Wageman,  1824  or  1825;  engraved  in  Talfourd's  'Letters 
of  Charles  Lamb,'  1837;  in  America.  7.  Charles  Lamb  and  his 
sister  together,  by  F.  S.  Gary,  1834;  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery.  8.  By  Maclise,  sketch  in  'Eraser's  Magazine,'  1835 
(cf.  LUCAS'S  Life,  ii.  App.  i.). 

Lamb's  writings  published  in  book  form  are:,  i.  'Poems  on 
Various  Subjects,  by  S.  T.  Coleridge,  late  of  Jesus  College,  Cam- 
bridge,' 1796,  contains  four  sonnets  by  Lamb  signed  'C.  L.,' 
referred  to  by  Coleridge  in  his  preface  as  by  'Mr.  Charles  Lamb 
of  the  India  House.'  2.  'Poems  by  S.  T.  Coleridge,  2nd  edit.,  to 
which  are  now  added  Poems  by  Charles  Lamb  and  Charles  Lloyd,' 
J797-  3-  "Blank  Verse  by  Charles  *Lloyd  and  Charles  Lamb,' 
1798.  4.  'A  Tale  of  Rosamund  Gray  and  Old  Blind  Margaret,  by 
Charles  Lamb,'  1798.  5.  'John  Woodvil,  a  Tragedy,  by  Charles 
Lamb,'  &c.,  1802.  6.  'Mrs.  Leicester's  School,'  &c.,  1807, 
by  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  Charles  contributing  three  of  the 
stories,  'The  Witch  Aunt,'  'First  going  to  Church,'  and  the 
'Sea  Voyage.'  7.  'Tales  from  Shakespeare,  &c.,  by  Charles 
Lamb,'  1807.  The  bulk  of  the  tales  were  written  by  Mary  Lamb, 
Charles  contributing  the  tragedies.  8.  '  The  Adventures  of  Ulys- 
ses, by  Charles  Lamb,'  1808.  9.  'Specimens  of  English  Dra- 
matic Poets,  with  Notes  by  Charles  Lamb,'  1808.  10.  'Poetry 
for  Children,  entirely  original,  by  the  author  of  "Mrs.  Leicester's 
School," '  anonymous,  by  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb.  The  respec- 
tive shares  of  the  two  writers  were  not  indicated.  A  few  of 
Lamb's  verses  were  reprinted  by  him  in  his  'Collected  Works' 
in  1818.  ii.  'Prince  Dorus,'  a  poetical  version  of  an  ancient 
tale,  1811.  12.  'The  Works  of  Charles  Lamb,'  in  2  vols.  Lon- 
don, 1818.  13.  'Elia  —  Essays  which  have  appeared  under 
that  signature  in  the  "London  Magazine,"'  1823.  14.  'Album 
Verses,  with  a  few  others,'  by  Charles  Lamb,  1830.  15.  'Satan 
in  Search  of  a  Wife,'  1831.  16.  'The  Last  Essays  of  Elia,'  1833. 
In  this  list  are  not  included  Lamb's  occasional  contributions  to 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON  501 

periodical  literature,  such  as  albums  and  keepsakes,  prologues, 
and  epilogues  to  plays,  and  the  like.  Lamb's  children's  books 
(for  Godwin)  also  include  'The  King  and  Queen  of  Hearts' 
(slight  anonymous  verses  to  illustrations  by  Mulready),  1805 
(edited  in  facsimile  by  E.  V.  Lucas,  1902).  It  is  improbable  that 
Lamb  was  responsible  for  another  anonymous  volume  in  verse 
issued  by  Godwin  about  1811,  'Beauty  and  the  Beast,'  which 
was  reprinted,  with  preface  by  Shepherd,  1886,  and  by  Andrew 
Lang,  1887. 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON 

SIR   LESLIE   STEPHEN 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

BYRON,  GEORGE  GORDON,  sixth  lord  (1788-1824),  poet,  de- 
scended from  John,  first  Lord  Byron,  who  was  succeeded  by  his 
brother  Richard  (1605-1679).  Richard's  son,  William  (d.  1695), 
became  third  lord,  and  wrote  some  bad  verses.  By  his  wife, 
Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Viscount  Chaworth,  he  was  father  of 
William,  fourth  lord  (1669-1736),  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber  to 
Prince  George  of  Denmark.  The  fourth  lord  was  father,  by  his 
wife,  Frances,  daughter  of  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton,  of  William, 
fifth  lord,  John,  afterwards  Admiral  Byron,  and  Isabella,  wife  of 
the  fourth  and  mother  of  the  fifth  earl  of  Carlisle.  The  fifth  lord 
(1722-1798)  quarrelled  with  his  cousin  Mr.  Chaworth  (great  grand- 
son of  Viscount  Chaworth)  at  a  club  dinner  of  Nottinghamshire 
gentlemen,  26  Jan.  1765,  and  killed  him  after  a  confused  scuffle 
in  a  room  to  which  they  had  retired  by  themselves  after  dinner. 
Byron  was  convicted  of  manslaughter  before  the  House  of  Lords, 
16  April  1765  (State  Trials,  xix.  1175),  and,  though  exempted  from 
punishment  by  his  privilege  as  a  peer,  became  a  marked  man. 
He  lived  in  seclusion  at  Newstead  Abbey,  ill-treated  his  wife,  was 
known  as  the  'wicked  lord,'  encumbered  his  estates,  and  made  a 
sale  of  his  property  at  Rochdale,  the  disputed  legality  of  which 
led  to  a  prolonged  lawsuit.  His  children  and  his  only  grandson 
(son  of  his  son  by  the  daughter  of  his  brother,  the  admiral)  died 


502  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

before  him.  Admiral  Byron  had  two  sons,  John  and  George 
Anson  (ancestor  of  the  present  peer),  and  three  daughters,  one  of 
whom  became  wife  of  her  cousin,  son  of  the  fifth  lord ;  another  of 
Admiral  Parker;  the  third  of  Colonel  Leigh,  by  whom  she  was 
mother  of  another  Colonel  Leigh,  who  married  his  cousin,  Augusta, 
daughter  of  John  Byron,  the  admiral's  eldest  son.  This  John 
Byron  (born  1756)  was  educated  at  Westminster,  entered  the 
guards,  was  known  as  '  mad  Jack,'  and  was  a  handsome  profligate. 
He  seduced  the  Marchioness  of  Carmarthen,  who  became  Baroness 
Conyers  on  the  death  of  her  father,  fourth  earl  of  Holderness.  He 
married  her  (June  1779)  after  her  divorce,  and  had  by  her  in  1782 
a  daughter,  Augusta,  married  to  Colonel  Leigh  in  1807.  Lady 
Conyers's  death  in  France,  26  Jan.  1784,  deprived  her  husband  of 
an  income  of  4,000^.  a  year.  He  soon  afterwards  met  at  Bath  a 
Miss  Catherine  Gordon  of  Gicht,  with  a  fortune  of  23,ooo/., 
doubled  by  rumour.  The  pair  were  married  at  St.  Michael's 
Church,  Bath,  13  May  1785  (parish  register).  John  Byron  took 
his  second  wife  to  France,  squandered  most  of  her  property,  and 
returned  to  England,  where  their  only  child,  George  Gordon, 
was  born  in  Holies  Street,  London,  22  Jan.  1788.  John  Hunter 
saw  the  boy  when  he  was  born,  and  prescribed  for  the  infant's 
feet  (Mrs.  Byron's  letters  in  Add.  MS.  31037).  A  malformation 
was  caused,  as  Byron  afterwards  said,  by  his  mother's  'false 
delicacy.'  Trelawny  (Records,  ii.  132)  says  that  the  tendo  Achillis 
of  each  foot  was  so  contracted  that  he  could  only  walk  on  the  balls 
of  the  toes,  the  right  foot  being  most  distorted  and  bent  inwards. 
Injudicious  treatment  increased  the  mischief,  and  through  life 
the  poet  could  only  hobble  a  few  paces  on  foot,  though  he  could  at 
times  succeed  in  concealing  his  infirmity. 

John  Byron's  creditors  became  pressing.  The  daughter, 
Augusta,  was  sent  to  her  grandmother,  the  Dowager  Countess 
Holderness.  Mrs.  Byron  retired  to  Aberdeen,  and  lived  upon 
i5o/.  a  year,  the  interest  of  3,000^.  in  the  hands  of  trustees,  the  sole 
remnant  of  her  fortune.  She  took  lodgings  in  Queen  Street, 
Aberdeen,  and  was  followed  by  her  husband,  who  occupied  sepa- 
rate lodgings  and  sometimes  petted  the  child,  who  professed  in  later 
years  to  remember  him  perfectly  (MEDWIN,  p.  58).  With  money 
got  from  his  wife  or  his  sister,  Mrs.  Leigh,  he  escaped  to  France 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON 


503 


January  1791,  and  died  at  Valenciennes,  2  Aug.  1791,  possibly 
>y  his  own  hand  QEAFFRESON,  i.  48;  HARNESS,  p.  33;  Letter 
No.  460  in  MOORE'S  Life  of  Byron  implicitly  denies  suicide). 
Mrs.  Byron's  income,  reduced  to  135^  by  debts  for  furniture  and 
by  helping  her  husband,  was  raised  to  190^.  on  the  death  of  her 
grandmother,  and  she  lived  within  her  means.  Capricious  and 
passionate  by  nature,  she  treated  her  child  with  alternate  excesses 
of  violence  and  tenderness.  Scott  (MOORE,  ch.  xxiv.)  says  that 
in  1784  she  was  seized  with  an  hysterical  fit  during  Mrs.  Siddons's 
performance  in  Southern's  '  Fatal  Marriage,'  and  carried  out 
screaming,  'Oh,  my  Biron,  my  Biron'  (the  name  of  a  character 
in  the  play).  She  was  short  and  fat,  and  would  chase  her  mocking 
child  round  the  room  in  impotent  fury.  To  the  frank  remark  of  a 
schoolfellow,  'Your  mother  is  a  fool,'  he  replied,  'I  know  it.' 
Another  phrase  is  said  to  have  been  the  germ  of  the  *  Deformed 
Transformed.'  His  mother  reviling  him  as  a  '  lame  beast,'  he  re- 
plied, '  I  was  born  so,  mother.'  The  child  was  passionately  fond 
of  his  nurse,  May  Gray,  to  whom  at  the  final  parting  he  gave  a 
watch  and  his  miniature  —  afterwards  in  the  possession  of  Dr. 
Ewing  of  Aberdeen  —  and  by  whose  teaching  he  acquired  a 
familiarity  with  the  Bible,  preserved  through  life  by  a  very  reten- 
tive memory.  At  first  he  went  to  school  to  one  'Bodsy  Bowers,' 
and  afterwards  to  a  clergyman  .named  Ross.  The  son  of  his 
shoemaker,  Paterson,  taught  him  some  Latin,  and  he  was  at  the 
grammar  school  from  1794  to  1798  (BAIN,  Life  of  Arnott,  in  the 
papers  of  the  Aberdeen  Philosophical  Society,  gives  his  places  in 
the  school) .  He  was  regarded  as  warm-hearted,  pugnacious,  and 
idle.  Visits  to  his  mother's  relations  and  an  excursion  to  Ballater 
for  change  of  air  in  1796  varied  his  schooldays.  In  a  note  to  the 
1  Island'  (1813)  he  dates  his  love  of  mountainous  scenery  from  this 
period ;  and  in  a  note  to '  Don  Juan'  (canto  x.  stanza  18)  he  recalls 
the  delicious  horror  with  which  he  leaned  over  the  bridge  of 
Balgounie,  destined  in  an  old  rhyme  to  fall  with  '  a  wife's  ae  son  and 
a  mare's  ae  foal.'  An  infantile  passion  for  a  cousin,  Mary  Duff, 
in  his  eighth  year  was  so  intense  that  he  was  nearly  thrown  into 
convulsions  by  hearing,  when  he  was  sixteen,  of  her  marriage  to 
Mr.  Robert  Cockburn  (a  well-known  wine  merchant,  brother 
of  Lord  Cockburn).  She  died  10  March  1858  (Notes  and 


504  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Queries,  2nd  series,  iii.  231;  she  is  described  in  Mr.  Ruskin's 
'Praeterita'). 

In  1794,  by  the  death  of  the  fifth  Lord  Byron's  grandson  at  the 
siege  of  Calvi  in  Corsica,  Byron  became  heir  to  the  peerage.  A 
Mr.  Ferguson  suggested  to  Mrs.  Byron  that  an  application  to  the 
civil  list  for  a  pension  might  be  successful  if  sanctioned  by  the 
actual  peer  (Letters  in  Morrison  MSS.).  The  grand-uncle  would 
not  help  the  appeal,  but  after  his  death  (19  May  1798)  a  pension 
of  3<x>/.  was  given  to  the  new  peer's  mother  (warrant  dated  2  Oct. 
1799).  In  the  autumn  Mrs.  Byron  with  her  boy  and  May  Gray 
left  Aberdeen  for  Newstead.  The  house  was  ruinous.  The 
Rochdale  property  was  only  recoverable  by  a  lawsuit.  The  actual 
income  of  the  Newstead  estate  was  estimated  at  i,ioo/.  a  year, 
which  might  be  doubled  when  the  leases  fell  in.  Byron  told  Med- 
win  (p.  40)  that  it  was  about  i,5oo/.  a  year.  Byron  was  made  a 
ward  in  chancery,  and  Lord  Carlisle,  son  of  the  old  lord's  sister, 
was  appointed  his  guardian. 

Mrs.  Byron  settled  at  Nottingham,  and  sent  the  boy  to  be  pre- 
pared for  a  public  school  by  Mr.  Rogers.  He  was  tortured  by  the 
remedies  applied  to  his  feet  by  a  quack  named  Lavender.  His 
talent  for  satire  was  already  shown  in  a  lampoon  on  an  old  lady  and 
in  an  exposure  of  Lavender's  illiteracy.  In  1799  he  was  taken 
to  London  by  his  mother,  examined  for  his  lameness  by  Dr.  Baillie, 
and  sent  to  Dr.  Glennie's  school  at  Dulwich,  where  the  treatment 
prescribed  by  Baillie  could  be  carried  out.  Glennie  found  him 
playful,  amiable,  and  intelligent,  ill-grounded  in  scholarship,  but 
familiar  with  scripture,  and  a  devourer  of  poetry.  At  Glennie's 
he  read  a  pamphlet  on  the  shipwreck  of  the  Juno  in  1795,  which 
was  afterwards  worked  up  in  'Don  Juan;'  and  here,  about  1800, 
he  wrote  his  first  love  poem,  addressed  to  his  cousin  Margaret 
Parker.  Byron  speaks  of  her  transparent  and  evanescent  beauty, 
and  says  that  his  passion  had  its  '  usual  effects'  of  preventing  sleep 
and  appetite.  She  died  of  consumption  a  year  or  two  later. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Byron's  tempers  had  become  insupportable  to 
Glennie,  whose  discipline  was  spoilt  by  her  meddling,  and  to  Lord 
Carlisle,  who  ceased  to  see  her.  Her  importunity  prevailed  upon 
the  guardian  to  send  the  boy  to  Harrow,  where  (in  the  summer  of 
1801)  he  became  a  pupil  of  the  Rev.  Joseph  Drury. 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  505 

Drury  obtained  the  respect  and  affection  of  his  pupil.  A  note 
to '  Childe  Harold '  (canto  iv.) ,  upon  a  passage  in  which  he  describes 
his  repugnance  to  the  'daily  drug'  of  classical  lessons,  expresses 
his  enthusiastic  regard  for  Drury,  and  proves  that  he  had  not 
profited  by  Drury's  teaching.  His  notes  in  the  books  which  he 
gave  to  the  school  library  show  that  he  never  became  a  tolerable 
scholar.  He  was  always  'idle,  in  mischief,  or  at  play,'  though 
reading  voraciously  by  fits.  He  shone  in  declamation,  and  Drury 
tells  how  he  quite  unconsciously  interpolated  a  vigorous  passage 
into  a  prepared  composition.  Unpopular  and  unhappy  at  first, 
he  hated  Harrow  (MOORE,  ch.  iv.)  till  his  last  year  and  a  half; 
but  he  became  attached  to  it  on  rising  to  be  a  leader.  Glennie 
had  noticed  that  his  deformity  had  increased  his  desire  for  athletic 
glory.  His  strength  of  arm  made  him  formidable  in  spite  of  his 

lameness.  He  fought  Lord  Calthorpe  for  writing '  d d  atheist ' 

under  his  name  (MED WIN,  p.  68).  He  was  a  cricketer  (Notes 
and  Queries,  6th  ser.  viii.  245),  and  the  late  Lord  Stratford  de  Red- 
cliffe  remembered  seeing  him  playing  in  the  match  against  Eton 
with  another  boy  to  run  for  him.  Byron  was  one  of  the  ringleaders 
in  a  childish  revolt  against  the  appointment  of  Dr.  Butler  (March 
1805)  as  Drury's  successor,  and  in  favour  of  Mark  Drury.  Byron 
said  that  he  saved  the  hall  from  burning  by  showing  to  the  boys 
the  names  of  their  ancestors  on  the  walls  (MEDWIN,  p.  68).  He 
afterwards  satirised  Butler  as  'Pomposus'  in  'Hours  of  Idleness,' 
but  had  the  sense  to  apologise  before  his  first  foreign  tour. 

*  My  school  friendships,'  says  Byron,  '  were  with  me  passions.' 
Byron  remonstrates  with  a  boyish  correspondent  for  calling  him 
'my  dear'  instead  of  'my  dearest  Byron.'  His  most  famous 
contemporary  at  Harrow  was  Sir  Robert  Peel,  for  whom  he  offered 
to  take  half  the  thrashing  inflicted  by  a  bully.  He  protected  Har- 
ness, his  junior  by  two  years,  who  survived  till  1869.  His  closest 
intimates  were  apparently  Lords  Clare  and  Dorset  and  John  Wing- 
field.  When  he  met  Clare  long  afterwards  in  Italy,  he  was  agi- 
tated to  a  painful  degree,  and  says  that  he  could  never  hear  the 
name  without  a  beating  of  the  heart.  He  had  been  called  at 
Glennie's  'the  old  English  baron,'  and  some  aristocratic  vanity 
perhaps  appears  in  his  choice  of  intimates  and  dependents. 

His  mother  was  at  Bath  in  1802  (where  he  appeared  in  Turkish 


506  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

costume  at  a  masquerade) ;  at  Nottingham  in  1803 ;  and  at  South- 
well, in  a  house  called  Burgage  Manor,  in  1804.  Byron  visited 
Newstead  in  1803,  then  occupied  by  Lord  Grey  de  Ruthin,  who  set 
apart  a  room  for  his  use.  He  was  often  at  Annesley  Hall,  the  seat 
of  his  distant  cousins  the  Chaworths.  Mary  Anne  Chaworth  was 
fifth  in  descent  from  Viscount  Chaworth,  and  her  grandfather  was 
brother  to  the  William  Chaworth  killed  by  the  fifth  Lord  Byron. 
A  superstitious  fancy  (duly  turned  to  account  in  the  '  Siege  of  Cor- 
inth,' xxi.),  that  the  family  portraits  would  descend  from  their 
frames  to  haunt  the  duellist's  heir,  made  him  refuse  to  sleep  there ; 
till  a  '  bogle '  seen  on  the  road  to  Newstead  —  or  some  less  fanciful 
motive  —  induced  him  to  stay  for  the  night.  He  had  fallen  des- 
perately in  love  with  Mary  Anne  Chaworth,  two  years  his  senior, 
who  naturally  declined  to  take  him  seriously.  A  year  later  Miss 
Pigot  describes  him  as  a  'fat  bashful  boy.'  In  1804  he  found 
Miss  Chaworth  engaged  to  John  Musters.  The  marriage  took 
place  in  1805.  Moore  gives  a  report,  probably  inaccurate  (see 
JEAFFRESON,  i.  123),  of  Byron's  agitation  on  hearing  of  the 
wedding.  He  dined  with  her  and  her  husband  in  1808,  and  was 
much  affected  by  seeing  her  infant  daughter.  Poems  addressed 
to  her  appeared  in  'Hours  of  Idleness'  and  Hobhouse's  'Mis- 
cellany.' He  told  Medwin  (p.  65)  that  he  had  found  in  her  '  all 
that  his  youthful  fancy  could  paint  of  beautiful.'  Mrs.  Musters's 
marriage  was  unhappy;  she  was  separated  from  her  husband; 
her  mind  became  affected,  and  she  died  in  1832  from  a  shock  caused 
by  riots  at  Nottingham.  This  passion  seems  to  have  left  the  most 
permanent  traces  on  Byron's  life;  though  it  was  a  year  later  (if 
his  account  is  accurate)  that  the  news  of  Mary  Duff's  marriage 
nearly  caused  convulsions. 

In  October  1805  Byron  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
as  a  nobleman.  A  youth  of '  tumultuous  passions '  (in  the  phrase  of 
his  college  tutor),  he  was  exposed  to  the  temptations  of  his  rank, 
yet  hardly  within  the  sphere  of  its  legitimate  ambition.  He  rode, 
shot  with  a  pistol,  and  boxed.  He  made  a  friend  of  the  famous 
pugilist,  Jackson,  paid  for  postchaises  to  bring  'dear  Jack'  to  visit 
nim  at  Brighton,  invited  him  to  Newstead,  and  gave  him  commis- 
sions about  dogs  and  horses.  He  was  greatest  at  swimming. 
The  pool  below  the  sluice  at  Grantchester  is  still  called  by  his 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  507 

name.  Leigh  Hunt  first  saw  him  (HUNT,  Byron,  &c.  p.  i)  swim- 
ming a  match  in  the  Thames  under  Jackson's  supervision,  and 
in  August  1807  he  boasts  to  Miss  Pigot  of  a  three  miles  swim 
through  Blackfriars  and  Westminster  bridges.  He  travelled  to 
various  resorts  with  a  carriage,  a  pair  of  horses,  a  groom  and  valet, 
besides  a  bulldog  and  a  Newfoundland.  In  1806  his  mother 
ended  a  quarrel  by  throwing  the  poker  and  tongs  at  his  head.  She 
followed  him  to  his  lodgings  in  London,  whither  he  retreated, 
and  there  another  engagement  resulted  in  the  defeat  of  the  enemy 
—  his  mother.  On  a  visit  to  Harrogate  in  the  same  summer  with 
his  friend  Pigot  he  was  shy,  quiet,  avoided  drinking,  and  was  polite 
to  Professor  Hailstone,  of  Trinity.  On  some  of  his  rambles  he 
was  accompanied  by  a  girl  in  boy's  clothes,  whom  he  introduced 
as  his  younger  brother.  He  tells  Miss  Pigot  that  he  has  played 
hazard  for  two  nights  till  four  in  the  morning;  and  in  a  later 
diary  (MooRE,  chap,  viii.)  says  that  he  loved  gambling,  but  left 
off  in  time,  and  played  little  after  he  was  of  age.  It  is  not  surpris- 
ing to  find  him  confessing  in  1808  (Letter  25)  that  he  is  '  cursedly 
dipped,'  and  will  owe  9,ooo/.  or  io,ooo/.  on  coming  of  age.  The 
college  authorities  naturally  looked  askance  at  him;  and  Byron 
symbolised  his  opinion  of  dons  by  bringing  up  a  bear  to  college, 
and  declaring  that  the  animal  should  sit  for  a  fellowship. 

Byron  formed  friendships  and  had  pursuits  of  a  more  intellectual 
kind.  He  seems  to  have  resided  at  Cambridge  for  the  Michael- 
mas term  1805,  and  the  Lent  and  Easter  terms  1806;  he  was  then 
absent  for  nearly  a  year,  and  returned  to  keep  (probably)  the  Easter 
term  of  1807,  the  following  October  and  Lent  terms,  and  perhaps 
the  Easter  term  of  1808,  taking  his  M.A.  degree  on  4  July  1808 
(information  kindly  given  by  Cambridge  authorities).  In  the  first 
period  of  residence,  though  sulky  and  solitary,  he  became  the  ad- 
miring friend  of  W.  J.  Bankes,  was  intimate  with  Edward  Noel 
Long,  and  protected  a  chorister  named  Eddlestone.  His  friend- 
ship with  this  youth,  he  tells  Miss  Pigot  (July  1807),  is  to  eclipse 
all  the  classical  precedents,  and  Byron  means  to  get  a  partnership 
for  his  friend,  or  to  take  him  as  a  permanent  companion.  Eddie- 
stone  died  of  consumption  in  1811,  and  Byron  then  reclaimed 
from  Miss  Pigot  a  cornelian,  which  he  had  originally  received 
from  Eddlestone,  and  handed  on  to  her.  References  to  this  friend- 


508  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

ship  are  in  the  'Hours  of  Idleness,'  and  probably  in  the  '  Cornelian 
Heart'  (dated  March  1812).  Long  entered  the  army,  and  was 
drowned  in  a  transport  in  1809,  to  Byron's  profound  affliction. 
He  became  intimate  with  two  fellows  of  King's  —  Henry  Drury 
and  Francis  Hodgson,  afterwards  provost  of  Eton.  Byron  showed 
his  friendship  for  Hodgson  by  a  present  of  i,ooo/.  in  1813,  when 
Hodgson  was  in  embarrassment  and  Byron  not  over  rich  (HODG- 
SON, Memoirs,  i.  268).  In  his  later  residence  a  closer  'coterie' 
was  formed  by  Byron,  Hobhouse,  Davies,  and  C.  S.  Matthews 
(Letter  66).  John  Cam  Hobhouse,  afterwards  Lord  Broughton, 
was  his  friend  through  life.  Scrope  Berdmore  Davies,  a  man  of 
wit  and  taste,  delighted  Byron  by  his  'dashing  vivacity,'  and  lent 
him  4,8oo/.,  the  repayment  of  which  was  celebrated  by  a  drinking 
bout  at  the  Cocoa  on  27  March  1814.  Hodgson  reports  (i.  104) 
that  when  Byron  exclaimed  melodramatically  'I  shall  go  mad/ 
Davies  used  to  suggest  'silly'  as  a  probable  emendation. 
Matthews  was  regarded  as  the  most  promising  of  the  friends. 
Byron  described  his  audacity,  his  swimming  and  boxing,  and 
conversational  powers  in  a  letter  to  Murray  (20  Nov.  1820),  and 
tells  Dallas  (Letter  61)  that  he  was  a  'most  decided'  and  out- 
spoken 'atheist.' 

Among  these  friends  Byron  varied  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  by 
literary  efforts.  He  boasts  in  a  juvenile  letter  (No.  20)  that  he 
has  often  been  compared  to  '  the  wicked '  Lord  Lyttelton,  and  has 
already  been  held  up  as  '  the  votary  of  licentiousness  and  the  dis- 
ciple of  infidelity.'  A  list  (dated  30  Nov.  1807)  shows  that  he  had 
read  or  looked  through  many  historical  books  and  novels  'by  the 
thousand.'  His  memory  was  remarkable  (see  e.g.  GAMBA,  p.  148; 
LADY  BLESSINGTON,  p.  134).  Scott,  however,  found  in  1815  that 
his  reading  did  'not  appear  to  have  been  extensive,  either  in  history 
or  poetry;'  and  the  list  does  not  imply  that  he  had  strayed  beyond 
the  highways  of  literature. 

At  Southwell,  in  September  1806,  he  took  the  principal  part 
(Penruddock,  an  'amiable  misanthrope')  in  an  amateur  per- 
formance of  Cumberland's  'Wheel  of  Fortune,'  and  'spun  a  pro- 
logue '  in  a  postchaise.  About  the  same  time  he  confessed  to  Miss 
Pigot,  who  had  been  reading  Burns  to  him,  that  he  too  was  a  poet, 
and  wrote  do\vn  the  lines  'In  thee  I  fondly  hoped  to  clasp.'  In 


THE   LIFE   OF   LORD    BYRON  509 

November  1806  Ridge,  a  Newark  bookseller,  had  privately  printed 
for  him  a  small  volume  of  poems,  entitled  'Fugitive  Pieces.'  His 
friend  Mr.  Becher,  a  Southwell  clergyman  [see  BECHER,  JOHN], 
remonstrated  against  the  license  of  one  poem.  Byron  immediately 
destroyed  the  whole  impression  (except  one  copy  in  Becher 's 
hands  and  one  sent  to  young  Pigot,  then  studying  medicine  at 
Edinburgh).  A  hundred  copies,  omitting  the  offensive  verses, 
and  with  some  additions,  under  the  title  '  Poems  on  Various  Occa- 
sions,' were  distributed  in  January  1807.  Favourable  notices 
came  to  the  author  from  Bankes,  Henry  Mackenzie  ('The  Man  of 
Feeling ') ,  and  Lord  Woodhouselee.  In  the  summer  of  1 807  Byron 
published  a  collection  called  'Hours  of  Idleness,  a  series  of  Poems, 
original  and  translated,  by  George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron,  a  minor,' 
from  which  twenty  of  the  privately  printed  poems  were  omitted 
and  others  added.  It  was  praised  in  the  'Critical  Review'  of 
September  1807,  and  abused  in  the  first  number  of  the  'Satirist.' 
A  new  edition,  with  some  additions  and  without  the  prefaces, 
appeared  in  March  1808  (see  account  of  these  editions  in  appendix 
to  English  translation  of  ELZE'S  Byron  (1872),  p.  446).  In  Janu- 
ary 1808  the  famous  criticism  came  out  in  the  'Edinburgh'  (Byron 
speaks  of  this  as  about  to  appear  in  a  letter  (No.  24)  dated  26  Feb. 
1808).  The  critique  has  been  attributed  both  to  Brougham  and 
Jeffrey.  Jeffrey  seems  to  have  denied  the  authorship  (see  MED- 
WIN,  p.  174),  and  the  ponderous  legal  facetiousness  is  certainly 
not  unlike  Brougham,  whom  Byron  came  to  regard  as  the  author 
(see  Notes  and  Queries,  4th  ser.  vi.  368,  480).  The  severity  was 
natural  enough.  Scott,  indeed,  says  that  he  remonstrated  with 
Jeffrey,  thinking  that  the  poems  contained  'some  passages  of 
noble  promise.'  But  the  want  of  critical  acumen  is  less  obvious 
than  the  needless  cruelty  of  the  wound  inflicted  upon  a  boy's 
harmless  vanity.  Byron  was  deeply  stung.  He  often  boasted 
afterwards  (e.g.  Letter  420)  that  he  instantly  drank  three  bottles  of 
claret  and  began  a  reply.  He  had  already  in  his  desk  (Letter  18), 
on  26  Oct.  1807,  380  lines  of  his  satire,  besides  214  pages  of  a  novel, 
560  lines  in  blank  verse  of  a  poem  on  Bosworth  Field,  and  other 
pieces.  He  now  carefully  polished  his  satire,  and  had  it  put  in 
type  by  Ridge. 

On  leaving  Cambridge  he  had  settled  at  Newstead,  given  up  in 


510  SIR  LESLIE   STEPHEN 

ruinous  condition  by  Lord  Grey  in  the  previous  April,  where  he 
had  a  few  rooms  made  habitable,  and  celebrated  his  coming  of 
age  by  some  meagre  approach  to  the  usual  festivities.  A  favour- 
able decision  in  the  courts  had  given  him  hopes  of  Rochdale,  and 
made  him,  he  says,  6o,ooo/.  richer.  The  suit,  however,  dragged 
on  through  his  life.  Meanwhile  he  had  to  raise  money  to  make 
repairs  and  maintain  his  establishment  at  Newstead,  with  which  he 
declares  his  resolution  never  to  part  (Letter  of  6  March  1809). 
The  same  letter  announces  the  death  of  his  friend  Lord  Falkland 
in  a  duel.  In  spite  of  his  own  difficulties  Byron  tried  to  help  the 
widow,  stood  godfather  to  her  infant,  and  left  a  500^.  note  for  his 
godchild  in  a  breakfast  cup  In  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Byron  (Athe- 
H(eum,6  Sept.  1884)  this  is  apparently  mentioned  as  a  loan  to  Lady 
Falkland.  On  13  March  he  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
Lord  Carlisle  had  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  '  Hours  of  Idleness,' 
the  second  edition  of  which  had  been  dedicated  to  him,  in  a 
'tolerably  handsome  letter,'  but  would  take  no  trouble  about 
introducing  his  ward.  Byron  was  accompanied  to  the  house 
by  no  one  but  Dallas,  a  small  author,  whose  sister  was  the  wife 
of  Byron's  uncle,  George  Anson,  and  who  had  recently  sought  his 
acquaintance.  Byron  felt  his  isolation,  and  sulkily  put  aside  a 
greeting  from  the  chancellor  (Eldon).  He  erased  a  compliment 
to  Carlisle  and  substituted  a  bitter  attack  in  his  satire  which  was 
now  going  through  the  press  under  Dallas's  superintendence. 
'English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers'  appeared  in  the  middle  of 
March,  and  at  once  made  its  mark.  He  prepared  a  second  edition 
at  the  end  of  April  with  additions  and  a  swaggering  prose  postscript, 
announcing  his  departure  from  England  and  declaring  that  his 
motive  was  not  fear  of  his  victims'  antipathies.  The  satire  is 
vigorously  written  and  more  carefully  polished  than  Byron's  later 
efforts ;  but  has  not  the  bitterness,  the  keenness,  or  the  fine  work- 
manship of  Pope.  The  retort  upon  his  reviewers  is  only  part  of  a 
long  tirade  upon  the  other  poets  of  the  day.  In  1816  Byron  made 
some  annotations  on  the  poem  at  Geneva,  admitting  the  injustice 
of  many  lines.  A  third  and  fourth  edition  appeared  in  1810  and 
1811 ;  in  the  last  year  he  prepared  a  fifth  for  the  press.  He  sup- 
pressed it,  as  many  of  his  adversaries  were  now  on  friendly  terms 
with  him,  and  destroyed  all  but  one  copy,  from  which  later  editions 


THE   LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  511 

have  been  printed.     He  told  Murray  (23  Oct.  1817)  that  he  would 
never  consent  to  its  republication. 

Byron  had  for  some  time  contemplated  making  his  'grand  tour.' 
In  the  autumn  of  1808  he  got  up  a  play  at  Newstead;  he  buried 
his  Newfoundland,  Boatswain,  who  died  of  madness  18  Nov.  1808, 
under  a  monument  with  a  misanthropical  inscription^  and  in 
the  following  spring  entertained  his  college  friends.  C.  S.  Mat- 
thews describes  their  amusements  in  a  letter  published  by  Moore. 
They  dressed  themselves  in  theatrical  costumes  of  monks  (with  a 
recollection,  perhaps,  of  Medmenham),  and  drank  burgundy  out 
of  a  human  skull  found  near  the  abbey,  which  Byron  had  fash- 
ioned into  a  cup  with  an  appropriate  inscription.  Such  revelries 
suggested  extravagant  rumours  of  reckless  orgies  and  'harems' 
in  the  abbey.  Moore  assures  us  that  the  life  there  was  in  reality 
'simple  and  inexpensive,'  and  the  scandal  of  limited  application. 

Byron  took  leave  of  England  by  some  verses  to  Mrs.  Musters 
about  his  blighted  affections,  and  sailed  from  Falmouth  in  the 
Lisbon  packet  on  2  July  1809.  Hobhouse  accompanied  him,  and 
he  took  three  servants,  Fletcher  (who  followed  him  to  the  last), 
Rushton,  and  Joe  Murray.  From  Lisbon  he  rode  across  Spain 
to  Seville  and  Cadiz,  and  thence  sailed  to  Gibraltar  in  the  Hyperion 
frigate  in  the  beginning  of  August.  He  sent  home  Murray  and 
Rushton  with  instructions  for  the  proper  education  of  the  latter 
at  his  own  expense.  He  sailed  in  the  packet  for  Malta  on  19  Aug. 
1809,  in  company  with  Gait,  who  afterwards  wrote  his  life,  and  who 
was  rather  amused  by  the  affectations  of  the  youthful  peer.  At 
Malta  he  fell  in  with  a  Mrs.  Spencer  Smith  with  a  romantic  history 
(see  Memoirs  of  the  Duchesse  d'Abrantes  (1834),  xv.  1-74),  to  whom 
he  addressed  the  verses  'To  Florence,'  'stanzas  composed  during 
a  thunderstorm,'  and  a  passage  in  'Childe  Harold'  (ii.  st.  30-3), 
explaining  that  his  heart  was  now  past  the  power  of  loving.  From 
Malta  he  reached  Prevesa  in  the  Spider,  brig  of  war,  on  19  Sept. 
1809.  He  thence  visited  Ali  Pasha  at  Tepelen,  and  was  nearly 
lost  in  a  Turkish  man-of-war  on  his  return.  In  November  he 
travelled  to  Missolonghi  (21  Nov.)  through  Acarnaniawith  a  guard 
of  Albanians.  He  stayed  a  fortnight  at  Patras,  and  thence  left 
for  Athens.  He  reached  Athens  on  Christmas  eve  and  lodged 
with  Theodora  Macri,  widow  of  the  English  vice-consul,  who  had 


512  SIR   LESLIE   STEPHEN 

three  lovely  daughters.  The  eldest,  Theresa,  celebrated  by  Byron 
as  the  Maid  of  Athens,  became  Mrs.  Black.  She  fell  into  poverty, 
and  an  appeal  for  her  support  was  made  in  the  'Times'  on  23 
March  1872.  She  died  in  October  1875  (Times,  21,  25,  27  Oct. 
1875).  He  sailed  from  Athens  for  Smyrna  in  the  Pylades,  sloop 
of  war,  gn  5  March  1810;  visited  Ephesus;  and  on  n  April  sailed 
in  the  Salsette  frigate  for  Constantinople,  and  visited  the  Troad. 
On  3  May  he  repeated  Leander's  feat  of  swimming  from  Sestos 
to  Abydos.  In  February  1821  he  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Murray, 
defending  his  statements  against  some  criticisms  in  W.  Turner's 
'Tour  in  the  Levant'  (see  Appendix  to  MOORE).  Byron  reached 
Constantinople  on  14  May,  and  sailed  in  the  Salsette  on  14  July. 
Hobhouse  returned  to  England,  while  Byron  landed  at  Zea,  with 
Fletcher,  two  Albanians,  and  a  Tartar,  and  returned  to  Athens. 
Here  he  professed  to  have  met  with  the  adventure  turned  to  account 
in  the  'Giaour'  about  saving  a  girl  from  being  drowned  in  a  sack. 
A  letter  from  Lord  Sligo,  who  was  then  at  Athens,  to  Byron  (31  Aug. 
1813),  proves  that  some  such  report  was  current  at  Athens  a  day 
or  two  later,  and  may  possibly  have  had  some  foundation.  Hob- 
house  (Westminster  Review,  January  1825)  says  that  Byron's 
Turkish  servant  was  the  lover  of  the  girl.  He  made  a  tour  in  the 
Morea,  had  a  dangerous  fever  at  Patras  (which  left  a  liability  to 
malaria),  and  returned  to  Athens,  where  he  passed  the  winter  of 
1810-11  in  the  Capuchin  convent.  Here  he  met  Lady  Hester 
Stanhope,  and  formed  one  of  his  strong  attachments  to  a  youth 
called  Nicolo  Giraud.  To  this  lad  he  gave  a  sum  of  money  on 
parting,  and  left  him  7,000^.  in  a  will  of  August  1811.  From 
Athens  Byron  went  to  Malta,  and  sailed  thence  for  England  in 
the  Volage  frigate  on  3  June  1811.  He  reached  Portsmouth  at  the 
beginning  of  July,  and  was  met  by  Dallas  at  Reddish's  Hotel, 
St.  James's  Street,  on  15  July  1811. 

Byron  returned  to  isolation  and  vexation.  He  had  told  his 
mother  that,  if  compelled  to  part  with  Newstead,  he  should  retire 
to  the  East.  To  Hodgson  he  wrote  while  at  sea  (Letter  51)  that  he 
was  returning  embarrassed,  unsocial,  '  without  a  hope  and  almost 
without  a  desire.'  His  financial  difficulties  are  shown  by  a  series 
of  letters  published  in  the  'Athenaeum'  (30  Aug.  and  6  Sept.  1884). 
The  court  of  chancery  had  allowed  him  500^.  a  year  at  Cambridge, 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  513 

to  which  his  mother  had  added  as  much,  besides  incurring  a  debt 
of  i,ooo/.  on  his  behalf.  He  is  reduced  to  his  last  guinea  in  De- 
cember 1807,  has  obtained  loans  from  Jews,  and  expects  to  end  by 
suicide  or  the  marriage  of  a  'golden  dolly.'  His  mother  was  put 
to  the  greatest  difficulties  during  his  travels,  and  he  seems  to  have 
been  careless  in  providing  for  her  wants.  The  bailiffs  were  at 
Newstead  in  February  1810;  a  sale  was  threatened  in  June. 
Byron  writes  from  Athens  in  November  refusing  to  sell  Newstead. 
While  returning  to  England  he  proposed  to  join  the  army,  and  had 
to  borrow  money  to  pay  for  his  journey  to  London.  News  of  his 
mother's  illness  came  to  him  in  London,  and  before  he  could 
reach  her  she  died  (i  Aug.  1811)  of  'a  fit  of  rage  caused  by  reading 
the  upholsterer's  bills.'  The  loss  affected  him  deeply,  and  he  was 
found  sobbing  by  her  remains  over  the  loss  of  his  one  friend  in  the 
world.  The  deaths  of  his  school-friend  Wingfield  (14  May  1811), 
of  C.  S.  Matthews,  and  of  Eddlestone,  were  nearly  simultaneous 
blows,  and  he  tells  Miss  Pigot  that  the  last  death  'made  the  sixth, 
within  four  months,  of  friends  and  relatives  lost  between  May  and 
the  end  of  August.'  In  February  1812  he  mentions  Eddlestone 
to  Hodgson  (Memoirs,  i.  221)  as  the  'only  human  being  that  ever 
loved  him  in  truth  and  entirely.'  He  adds  that  where  death  has 
set  his  seal  the  impression  can  never  be  broken.  The  phrase 
recurs  in  the  most  impressive  of  the  poems  to  Thyrza,  dated  in 
the  same  month.  The  coincidence  seems  to  confirm  Moore's 
statement  that  Thyrza  was  no  more  than  an  impersonation  of 
Byron's  melancholy  caused  by  many  losses.  An  apostrophe  to 
a  l  loved  and  lovely  one '  at  the  end  of  the  second  canto  of  '  Childe 
Harold'  (st.  95,  96)  belongs  to  the  same  series.  Attempts  to 
identify  Thyrza  have  failed.  Byron  spoke  to  Trelawny  of  a  pas- 
sion for  a  cousin  who  was  in  a  decline  when  he  left  England,  and 
whom  Trelawny  identifies  with  Thyrza.  No  one  seems  to  answer 
to  the  description.  It  may  be  added  that  he  speaks  (see  MOORE, 
chap,  iv.)  of  a  'violent,  though  pure  love  and  passion'  which  ab- 
sorbed him  while  at  Cambridge,  and  writes  to  Dallas  (n  Oct. 
1811)  of  a  loss  about  this  time  which  would  have  profoundly  moved 
him  but  that  he  'has  supped  full  of  horrors,'  and  that  Dallas  un- 
derstands him  as  referring  to  some  one  who  might  have  made  him 
happy  as  a  wife.  Byron  had  sufficient  elasticity  of  spirit  for  a 

2L 


514  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

defiance  of  the  world,  and  a  vanity  keen  enough  to  make  a  boastful 
exhibition  of  premature  cynicism  and  a  blighted  heart. 

At  the  end  of  October  1811  he  took  lodgings  in  St.  James's 
Street.  He  had  shown  to  Dallas  upon  his  return  to  England  the 
first  two  cantos  of  'Childe  Harold'  and  'Hints  from  Horace,' 
a  tame  paraphrase  of  the  'Ars  Poetica.'  According  to  Dallas, 
he  preferred  the  last,  and  was  unwilling  to  publish  the  'Childe.' 
Cawthorn,  who  had  published  the  *  English  Bards,'  &c.>  accepted 
the  'Hints'  (which  did  not  appear  till  after  Byron's  death),  but 
the  publication  was  delayed,  apparently  for  want  of  a  good  classical 
reviser  (To  Hodgson,  13  Oct.  1811).  The  Longmans  had  re- 
fused the  'English  Bards,'  which  attacked  their  friends,  and  Byron 
told  Dallas  to  offer  'Childe  Harold'  elsewhere.  Miller  objected 
to  the  attack  upon  Lord  Elgin  (as  the  despoiler  of  the  Parthenon) , 
for  whom  he  published ;  and  it  was  ultimately  accepted  by  Mur- 
ray, who  thus  began  a  permanent  connection  with  Byron.  '  Childe 
Harold'  appeared  in  March  1812.  Byron  had  meanwhile  spoken 
for  the  first  time  in  the  House  of  Lords,  27  Feb.  1812,  against  a  bill 
for  suppressing  riots  of  Nottingham  frameworkers,  and  with  con- 
siderable success.  A  second  and  less  successful  speech  against 
catholic  disabilities  followed  on  21  April  1812.  He  made  one 
other  short  speech  in  presenting  a  petition  from  Major  Cartwright 
on  i  June  1813.  Lord  Holland  helped  him  in  providing  materials 
for  the  first,  and  the  speeches  indicate  a  leaning  towards  something 
more  than  whiggism.  The  first  two  are  of  rather  elaborate  rhetoric, 
and  his  delivery  was  criticised  as  too  theatrical  and  sing-song. 
Any  political  ambition  was  extinguished  by  the  startling  success 
of  'Childe  Harold,'  of  which  a  first  edition  was  immediately  sold. 
Byron  'woke  one  morning  and  found  himself  famous.'  Murray 
gave  6oo/.  for  the  copyright,  which  Byron  handed  over  to  Dallas, 
declaring  that  he  would  never  take  money  for  his  poems. 

The  two  cantos  now  published  are  admittedly  inferior  to  the 
continuation  of  the  poem;  and  the  affectation  of  which  ft  set  the 
fashion  is  obsolete.  Byron  tells  Murray  (3  Nov.  1821)  that  he  is 
like  a  tiger.  If  he  misses  his  first  spring,  he  goes  '  grumbling 
back  to  the  jungle  again.'  His  poems  are  all  substantially 
impromptus;  but  the  vigour  and  descriptive  power,  in  spite  of 
all  blemishes,  are  enough  to  explain  the  success  of  a  poem  origi- 


THE   LIFE   OF   LORD    BYRON 


515 


nal  in  conception  and  setting  forth  a  type  of  character  which  em- 
bodied a  prevailing  sentiment. 

Byron  became  the  idol  of  the  sentimental  part  of  society. 
Friends  and  lovers  of  notoriety  gathered  round  this  fascinating 
rebel.  Among  the  first  was  Moore,  who  had  sent  him  a  challenge 
for  a  passage  in  'English  Bards'  ridiculing  the  bloodless  duel  with 
Jeffrey.  Hodgson  had  suppressed  the  letter  during  Byron's 
absence.  Moore  now  wrote  a  letter  ostensibly  demanding  ex- 
planations, but  more  like  a  request  for  acquaintance.  The  two 
met  at  a  dinner  given  by  Rogers,  where  Campbell  made  a  fourth. 
Byron  surprised  his  new  friends  by  the  distinction  of  his  appearance 
and  the  eccentricity  of  his  diet,  consisting  of  potatoes  and  vinegar 
alone.  Moore  was  surprised  at  Byron's  isolation.  Dallas,  his 
solicitor,  Hanson,  and  three  or  four  college  friends  were  at  this  time 
(November  1811)  his  only  associates.  Moore  rapidly  became 
intimate.  Byron  liked  him  as  a  thorough  man  of  the  world  and 
as  an  expert  in  the  arts  which  compensate  for  inferiority  of  birth, 
and  which  enabled  Moore  to  act  as  an  obsequious  monitor  and  to 
smother  gentle  admonition  in  abundant  flattery.  In  his  diary 
(10  Dec.  1813)  Byron  says  that  Moore  was  the  best-hearted  man 
he  knew  and  with  talents  equal  to  his  feelings.  Byron  was  now 
at  the  height  of  his  proverbial  beauty.  Coleridge  in  1816  speaks 
enthusiastically  of  the  astonishing  beauty  and  expressiveness  of 
his  face  (GILLMAN,  p.  267).  Dark  brown  locks,  curling  over  a 
lofty  forehead,  grey  eyes  with  long  dark  lashes,  a  mouth  and  chin 
of  exquisite  symmetry  are  shown  in  his  portraits,  and  were  ani- 
mated by  an  astonishing  mobility  of  expression,  varying  from  apathy 
to  intense  passion.  His  head  was  very  small;  his  nose,  though 
well  formed,  rather  too  thick;  looking,  says  Hunt  (i.  150),  in  a 
front  view  as  if  '  grafted  on  the  face ; '  his  complexion  was  colourless ; 
he  had  little  beard.  His  height,  he  says  (Diary,  17  March  1814), 
5ft.  8 Jin.  or  a  little  less  (MEDWIN,  p.  5).  He  had  a  broad  chest, 
long  muscular  arms,  with  white  delicate  hands,  and  beautiful 
teeth.  A  tendency  to  excessive  fatness,  inherited  from  his  mother, 
was  not  only  disfiguring  but  productive  of  great  discomfort,  and 
increased  the  unwieldiness  arising  from  his  lameness.  To  remedy 
the  evil  he  resorted  to  the  injurious  system  of  diet  often  set  down 
to  mere  affectation.  Trelawny  (ii.  74)  observes  more  justly  that 


516  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Byron  was  the  only  human  being  he  knew  with  self-restraint 
enough  not  to  get  fat.  In  April  1807  he  tells  Pigot  that  he  has 
reduced  himself  by  exercise,  physic,  and  hot  baths  from  i4St. 
ylbs.  to  i2st.  ylbs. ;  in  January  1808  he  tells  Drury  that  he  has 
got  down  to  lost.  ylbs.  When  last  weighed  at  Genoa  he  was 
lost.  Qlbs.  (TRELAWNY).  He  carried  on  this  system  at  intervals 
through  life ;  at  Athens  he  drank  vinegar  and  water,  and  seldom 
ate  more  than  a  little  rice ;  on  his  return  he  gave  up  wine  and  meat. 
He  sparred  with  Jackson  for  exercise,  and  took  hot  baths.  In 
1813  he  lived  on  six  biscuits  a  day  and  tea;  in  December  he  fasts 
for  forty-eight  hours;  in  1816  he  lived  on  a  thin  slice  of  bread  for 
breakfast  and  a  vegetable  dinner,  drinking  green  tea  and  seltzer- 
water.  He  kept  down  hunger  by  chewing  mastic  and  tobacco 
(HUNT,  i.  65).  He  sometimes  took  laudanum  (Diary,  14  Jan. 
1821;  and  Lady  Byron's  Letter,  18  Jan.  1816).  He  tells  Moore 
(Letter  461)  in  1821  that  a  dose  of  salts  gave  him  most  exhilaration. 
Occasional  indulgences  varied  this  course.  Moore  describes 
a  supper  (19  May  1814)  when  he  finished  two  or  three  lobsters, 
washed  down  by  half  a  dozen  glasses  of  strong  brandy,  with 
tumblers  of  hot  water.  He  wrote  'Don  Juan'  on  gin  and  water, 
and  Medwin  (p.  336)  speaks  of  his  drinking  too  much  wine  and 
nearly  a  pint  of  hollands  every  night  (in  1822).  Trelawny  (i.  73), 
however,  declares  that  the  spirits  was  mere  'water  bewitched.' 
When  Hunt  reached  Pisa  in  1822,  he  found  Byron  so  fat  as  to  be 
scarcely  recognisable.  Medwin,  two  or  three  months  later,  found 
him  starved  into  'unnatural  thinness.'  Such  a  diet  was  no  doubt 
injurious  in  the  long  run ;  but  the  starvation  seems  to  have  stimu- 
lated his  brain,  and  Trelawny  says  that  no  man  had  brighter  eyes 
or  a  clearer  voice. 

In  the  spring  of  1813  Byron  published  anonymously  the  'Waltz,' 
and  disowned  it  on  its  deserved  failure.  Various  avatars  of  '  Childe 
Harold,'  however,  repeated  his  previous  success.  The  'Giaour' 
appeared  in  May  1813;  the  'Bride  of  Abydos'  in  December  1813; 
the  ' Corsair'  in  January  1814.  They  were  all  struck  off  at  a  white 
heat.  The '  Giaour '  was  increased  from  400  lines  in  the  first  edition 
to  1,400  in  the  fifth,  which  appeared  in  the  autumn  of  1813.  The 
first  sketch  of  the  'Bride'  was  written  in  four  nights  (Diary,  16 
Nov.  1813)  'to  distract  his  dreams  from  .  .  .  ,'  and  afterwards 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  517 

increased  by  200  lines.  The  'Corsair,'  written  in  ten  days,  or 
between  18  and  31  Dec.,  was  hardly  touched  afterwards.  He 
boasted  afterwards  that  14,000  copies  of  the  last  were  sold  in  a  day. 
With  its  first  edition  appeared  the  impromptu  lines,  'Weep, 
daughter  of  a  royal  line;'  the  Princess  Charlotte  having  wept,  it 
was  said,  on  the  inability  of  the  whigs  to  form  a  cabinet  on  Per- 
ceval's death.  The  lines  were  the  cause  of  vehement  attacks 
upon  the  author  by  the  government  papers.  A  satire  called  '  Anti- 
Byron,'  shown  to  him  by  Murray  in  March  1814,  indicated  the 
rise  of  a  hostile  feeling.  Byron  was  annoyed  by  the  shift  of 
favour.  He  had  said  in  the  dedication  of  the  *  Corsair '  to  Moore 
that  he  should  be  silent  for  some  years,  and  on  9  April  1814  tells 
Moore  that  he  has  given  up  rhyming.  The  same  letter  announces 
the  abdication  of  Napoleon,  and  next  day  he  composed  and  sent 
to  Murray  his  ode  upon  that  event.  On  29  April  he  tells  Murray 
that  he  has  resolved  to  buy  back  his  copyrights  and  suppress  his 
poetry,  but  he  instantly  withdrew  the  resolution  on  Murray's 
assurance  that  it  would  be  inconvenient.  By  the  middle  of  June 
he  had  finished  'Lara,'  which  was  published  in  the  same  volume 
with  Rogers's  'Jacqueline'  in  August.  The  'Hebrew  Melodies/ 
written  at  the  request  of  Kinnaird,  appeared  with  music  in  January 
1815.  The  'Siege  of  Corinth,'  begun  July  1815  and  copied  by 
Lady  Byron,  and  'Parisina,'  written  the  same  autumn,  appeared 
in  January  and  February  1816.  Murray  gave  yoo/.  for  'Lara' 
and  500  guineas  for  each  of  the  others.  Dallas  wrote  to  the  papers 
in  February  1814,  defending  his  noble  relative  from  the  charge  of 
accepting  payment ;  and  stated  that  the  money  for  '  Childe  Harold ' 
and  'The  Corsair'  had  been  given  to  himself.  The  sums  due  for 
the  other  two  poems  then  published  were  still,  it  seems,  in  the 
publisher's  hands.  In  the  beginning  of  1816  Byron  declined  to 
take  the  1,000  guineas  for  'Parisina'  and  the  '  Siege  of  Corinth, '  and 
it  was  proposed  to  hand  over  the  money  to  Godwin,  Coleridge, 
and  Maturin.  The  plan  was  dropped  at  Murray's  objection,  and 
the  poet  soon  became  less  scrupulous.  These  poems  were  written 
in  the  thick  of  many  distractions.  Byron  was  familiar  at  Holland, 
Melbourne,  and  Devonshire  Houses.  He  knew  Brummell  and 
was  one  of  the  dandies;  he  was  a  member  of  Watier's,  then  a 
'superb  club,'  and  appeared  as  a  caloyer  in  a  masquerade  given 


518  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

by  his  fellow-members  in  1813;  of  the  more  literary  and  sober 
Alfred;  of  the  Union,  the  Pugilistics,  and  the  Owls,  or  'Fly-by- 
nights.'  He  indulged  in  the  pleasures  of  his  class,  with  intervals 
of  self-contempt  and  foreboding.  Scott  and  Mme.  de  Stael  (like 
Lady  Byron)  thought  that  a  profound  melancholy  was  in  reality 
his  dominant  mood.  He  had  reasons  enough  in  his  money  em- 
barrassments and  in  dangerous  entanglements.  Fashionable 
women  adored  the  beautiful  young  poet  and  tried  to  soothe  his 
blighted  affections.  Lady  Morgan  (ii.  2)  describes  him  as  'cold, 
silent,  and  reserved,'  but  doubtless  not  the  less  fascinating.  Dal- 
las (iii.  41)  observed  that  his  coyness  speedily  vanished,  and  found 
him  in  a  brown  study  writing  to  some  fine  lady  whose  page  was 
waiting  in  scarlet  and  a  hussar  jacket.  This  may  have  been 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  a  woman  of  some  talent,  but  flighty  and 
excitable  to  the  verge  of  insanity.  She  was  born  23  Nov.  1785, 
the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Bessborough,  and  in  June  1805  married 
William  Lamb,  afterwards  Lord  Melbourne.  The  women,  as 
she  says,  'suffocated  him'  when  she  first  saw  him.  On  her  own 
introduction  by  Lady  Westmorland,  she  turned  on  her  heel  and 
wrote  in  her  diary  that  he  was  'mad,  bad,  and  dangerous  to  know.' 
The  acquaintance  was  renewed  at  Lady  Holland's,  and  for  nine 
months  he  almost  lived  at  Melbourne  House,  where  he  contrived 
to  'sweep  away'  the  dancing,  in  which  he  could  take  no  part. 
Lady  Caroline  did  her  best  to  make  her  passion  notorious.  She 
'absolutely  besieged  him,'  says  Rogers  (Table  Talk,  p.  235);  told 
him  in  her  first  letter  that  all  her  jewels  were  at  his  service ;  waited 
at  night  for  Rogers  in  his  garden  to  ask  him  to  reconcile  her  to 
Byron;  and  would  return  from  parties  in  Byron's  carriage  or 
wait  for  him  in  the  street  if  not  invited.  At  last,  in  July  1813  (see 
JACKSON,  Bath  Archives,  ii.  146),  it  was  rumoured  in  London  that 
after  a  quarrel  with  Byron  at  a  party  Lady  Caroline  had  tried  to 
stab  herself  with  a  knife  and  then  with  the  fragments  of  a  glass 
(the  party  was  on  5  July;  HAYWARD,  Eminent  Statesmen,  i.  350-3). 
Her  mother  now  insisted  upon  her  retirement  to  Ireland.  After 
a  farewell  interview,  Byron  wrote  her  a  letter  (printed  from  the 
original  manuscript  in  JEAFFRESON,  i.  261),  which  reads  like  an 
attempt  to  use  the  warmest  phrases  consistent  with  an  acceptance 
of  their  separation,  though  ending  with  a  statement  of  his  readiness 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON  519 

to  fly  with  her.  She  corresponded  with  Byron  from  Ireland  till 
on  the  eve  of  her  return  she  received  a  brutal  letter  from  him 
(printed  in  'Glenarvon,'  and  apparently  acknowledged  by  Byron, 
MEDWIN,  p.  274),  saying  roundly  that  he  was  attached  to  an- 
other, and  telling  her  to  correct  her  vanity  and  leave  him  in  peace. 
The  letter,  marked  with  Lady  Oxford's  coronet  and  initials,  threw 
Lady  Caroline  into  a  fit,  which  involved  leeching,  bleeding,  and 
bed  for  a  week. 

Lady  Caroline's  mother-in-law,  Lady  Melbourne,  was  sister 
of  Sir  R.  Milbanke,  who,  by  his  wife,  Judith  Noel,  daughter  of 
Lord  Wentworth,  was  father  of  an  only  daughter,  Anne  Isabella 
Milbanke,  born  17  May  1792.  Miss  Milbanke  was  a  woman  of 
intellectual  tastes ;  fond  of  theology  and  mathematics,  and  a  writer 
of  poems,  one  or  two  of  which  are  published  in  Byron's  works 
(two  are  given  in  Madame  Belloc's  'Byron,'  i.  68).  Byron  de- 
scribed her  to  Medwin  (p.  36)  as  having  small  and  feminine,  though 
not  regular,  features;  the  fairest  skin  imaginable;  perfect  figure 
and  temper  and  modest  manners.  She  was  on  friendly  terms  with 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Miss  Baillie,  Miss  Edgeworth,  and  other  literary 
persons  who  frequented  her  mother's  house  (see  HARNESS,  p.  23). 
A  strong  sense  of  duty,  shown  in  a  rather  puritanical  precision,  led 
unsympathetic  observers  to  regard  her  as  prudish,  pedantic,  and 
frigid.  Her  only  certain  fortune  was  io,ooo/.  Her  father  had 
injured  a  considerable  estate  by  electioneering.  Her  mother's 
brother,  Lord  Wentworth,  was  approaching  seventy.  His  estate 
of  some  7,ooo/.  a  year  was  at  his  own  disposal,  and  she  was  held 
to  be  his  favourite ;  but  he  had  illegitimate  children,  and  his  sister, 
Lady  Scarsdale,  had  sons  and  a  daughter.  Miss  Milbanke  was 
therefore  an  heiress  with  rather  uncertain  prospects.  Byron,  from 
whatever  motives,  made  her  an  offer  in  1812,  which  was  refused, 
and  afterwards  opened  a  correspondence  with  her  (CAMPBELL, 
New  Monthly,  xxviii.  374,  contradicts,  on  Lady  Byron's  authority, 
Medwin's  statement  (p.  37),  that  she  began  the  correspondence), 
which  continued  at  intervals  for  two  years.  On  30  Nov.  1813  he 
notices  the  oddness  of  a  situation  in  which  there  is  'not  a  spark  of 
love  on  either  side.'  On  15  March  1813  he  receives  a  letter  from 
her  and  says  that  he  will  be  in  love  again  if  he  does  not  take  care. 
Meanwhile  he  and  his  friends  naturally  held  that  a  marriage  might 


520  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

be  his  salvation.  Lady  Melbourne,  whom  on  her  death  in  1818 
he  calls  (Letter  316)  the  'best,  kindest,  and  ablest  female'  he  ever 
knew,  promoted  a  match  with  her  niece,  possibly  because  it  would 
effectually  bar  the  intrigue  with  her  daughter-in-law.  In  Septem- 
ber 1814  he  made  an  offer  to  Miss  Milbanke  in  a  letter,  which, 
according  to  a  story  told  by  Moore,  was  the  result  of  a  momentary 
impulse.  Byron  may  be  acquitted  of  simply  mercenary  motives. 
He  never  acted  upon  calculation,  and  had  he  wished,  he  might 
probably  have  turned  his  attractions  to  better  account.  The  sense 
that  he  was  drifting  into  dangerous  embarrassments,  which  (see 
Diary,  10  Dec.  1813)  suggests  hints  of  suicide,  would  no  doubt 
recommend  a  match  with  unimpeachable  propriety,  as  the  lady's 
vanity  was  equally  flattered  by  the  thought  of  effecting  such  a  con- 
version. Byron  was  pre-eminently  a  man  who  combined  strange 
infirmity  of  will  with  overpowering  gusts  of  passion.  He  drifted 
indolently  as  long  as  drifting  was  possible,  and  then  acted  im- 
petuously in  obedience  to  the  uppermost  influence. 

Byron's  marriage  took  place  2  Jan.  1815  at  Seaham,  Durham, 
the  seat  of  Sir  R.  Milbanke.  The  honeymoon  was  passed  at 
Halnaby,  another  of  his  houses  in  the  same  county.  The  pair  re- 
turned to  Seaham  21  Jan. ;  in  March  they  visited  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Leigh  at  Six  Mile  Bottom,  Newmarket,  on  their  way  to  London, 
where  they  settled,  18  March  1815,  at  13  Piccadilly  Terrace  for  the 
rest  of  their  married  life.  Byron,  in  'The  Dream,'  chose  to  de- 
clare that  on  his  wedding  day  his  "thoughts  had  been  with  Miss 
Chaworth.  He  also  told  Medwin  (p.  39)  that  on  leaving  the  house 
he  found  the  lady's-maid  placed  between  himself  and  his  bride  in 
the  carriage.  Hobhouse,  who  had  been  his  'best  man,'  authori- 
tatively contradicted  this  (Westminster  Review,  No.  5),  and  the 
statement  of  Mrs.  Minns  (first  published  in  '  Newcastle  Chronicle,' 
23  Sept.  1869),  who  had  been  Lady  Byron's  maid  at  Halnaby 
and  previously,  is  that  Lady  Byron  arrived  there  in  a  state '  buoyant 
and  cheerful;'  but  that  Byron's  'irregularities'  began  there  and 
caused  her  misery,  which  she  tried  to  conceal  from  her  mother. 
Lady  Byron  also  wrote  to  Hodgson  (15  Feb.  1816)  that  Byron  had 
married  her  'with  the  deepest  determination  of  revenge,  avowed 
on  the  day  of  my  marriage  and  executed  ever  since  with  systematic 
and  increasing  cruelty'  (Byron  contradicts  some  report  to  this 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD    BYRON  521 

effect  to  Medwin,  p.  39).  The  letters  written  at  the  time,  however, 
hardly  support  these  statements.  Byron  speaks  of  his  happiness 
to  Moore,  though  he  is  terribly  bored  by  his  'pious  father-in-law' 
(see  a  reference  to  this  in  TRELAWNY,  i.  72).  Lady  Milbanke 
speaks  of  their  happiness  at  Seaham  (Bland-Burgess  Papers, 
p.  339).  Mrs.  Leigh  tells  Hodgson  that  Lady  Byron's  parents  were 
pleased  with  their  son-in-law,  and  reports  favourably  of  the  pair 
on  their  visit  to  Six  Mile  Bottom.  In  April  Lord  Wentworth  died. 
The  bulk  of  his  property  was  settled  upon  Lady  Milbanke  (who, 
with  her  husband,  now  took  the  name  of  Noel)  and  Lady  Byron. 
On  29  July  1815  Byron  executed  the  will  proved  after  his  death. 
He  left  all  the  property  of  which  he  could  dispose  in  trust  for  Mrs. 
Leigh  and  her  children,  his  wife  and  any  children  he  might  have 
by  her  being  now  amply  provided  for.  Lady  Byron  fully  ap- 
proved of  this  provision,  and  communicates  it  in  an  affectionate 
letter  to  Mrs.  Leigh. 

Harness  says  that  when  the  Byrons  first  came  to  London  no 
couple  could  be  apparently  more  devoted  (HARNESS,  p.  14) ;  but 
troubles  approached.  Byron's  expenses  were  increased.  He  had 
agreed  to  sell  Newstead  for  140,000^.  in  September  1812;  but  two 
years  later  the  purchaser  withdrew,  forfeiting  25,ooo/.,  which 
seems  to  have  speedily  vanished.  In  November  1815  Byron  had 
to  sell  his  library,  though  he  still  declined  Murray's  offers  for  his 
copyrights.  Creditors  (at  whose  expense  this  questionable  deli- 
cacy must  have  been  exercised)  dunned  the  husband  of  an  heiress, 
and  there  were  nine  executions  in  his  house  within  the  year.  He 
found  distractions  abroad.  He  was  a  zealous  playgoer;  Kean's 
performance  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach  gave  him  a  kind  of  convulsive 
fit  —  a  story  which  recalls  his  mother's  at  the  Edinburgh  theatre, 
and  of  the  similar  effect  afterwards,  produced  upon  himself  by 
Alfieri's  'Mirra'  (MoORE,  chap.  xxii.).  He  became  member  of 
the  committee  of  management  of  Drury  Lane,  and  was  brought  into 
connections  of  which  Moore  says  that  they  gave  no  real  cause  of 
offence,  though  the  circumstances  were  dangerous  to  the  'steadi- 
ness of  married  life.'  We  hear,  too,  of  parties  where  all  ended  in 
'  hiccup  and  happiness ; '  and  it  seems  that  Byron's  dislike  of 
seeing  women  eat  led  to  a  separation  at  the  domestic  board.  The 
only  harsh  action  to  which  he  confessed  was  that  Lady  Byron  once 


522  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

came  upon  him  when  he  was  musing  over  his  embarrassments  and 
asked  'Am  I  in  your  way?'  to  which  he  replied  'Damnably' 
(MEDWIN,  p.  43). 

On  10  Dec.  1815  Lady  Byron  gave  birth  to  her  only  child, 
Augusta  Ada.  On  6  Jan.  1816  Byron  gave  directions  to  his  wife 
'in  writing'  to  leave  London  as  soon  as  she  was  well  enough.  It 
was  agreed,  he  told  Medwin  (p.  40),  that  she  should  stay  with  her 
father  till  some  arrangement  had  been  made  with  the  creditors. 
On  8  Jan.  Lady  Byron  consulted  Dr.  Baillie,  'with  the  concurrence 
of  his  family,'  that  is,  apparently,  Mrs.  Leigh  and  his  cousin, 
George  Byron,  with  whom  she  constantly  communicated  in  the 
following  period.  Dr.  Baillie,  on  her  expressing  doubts  of  Byron's 
sanity,  advised  her  absence  as  an  'experiment.'  He  told  her  to 
correspond  with  him  on  'light  and  soothing'  topics.  She  even 
believed  that  a  sudden  excitement  might  bring  on  a  'fatal  crisis.' 
She  left  London  on  15  Jan.  1816,  reaching  her  parents  at  Kirkby 
Mallory  on  the  i6th.  She  wrote  affectionately  to  her  husband  on 
starting  and  arriving.  The  last  letter,  she  says,  was  circulated 
to  support  the  charge  of  desertion.  It  began,  as  Byron  told  Med- 
win, 'Dear  Duck,'  and  was  signed  by  her  pet  name  'Pippin' 
(HUNT,  Autobiogr.  1860,  pp.  247,  254).  She  writes  to  Mrs.  Leigh 
on  the  same  day  that  she  has  made  'the  most  explicit  statement' 
to  her  parents.  They  are  anxious  to  do  everything  in  their  power 
for  the  'poor  sufferer.'  He  was  to  be  invited  at  once  to  Kirkby 
Mallory,  and  her  mother  wrote  accordingly  on  the  iyth.  He  would 
probably  drop  a  plan,  already  formed,  for  going  abroad  ^with  Hob- 
house  on  her  parents'  remonstrance.  On  18  Jan.  she  tells  Mrs. 
Leigh  that  she  hopes  that  Byron  will  join  her  for  a  time  and  not 
leave  her  till  there  is  a  prospect  of  an  heir.  Lady  Noel  has  sug- 
gested that  Mrs.  Leigh  might  dilute  a  laudanum  bottle  with  water 
without  Byron's  knowledge.  She  still  writes  as  an  affectionate 
wife,  hoping  that  her  husband  may  be  cured  of  insanity.  An 
apothecary,  Le  Mann,  is  to  see  the  patient,  and  Lady  Noel  will 
go  to  London,  consult  Mrs.  Leigh,  and  procure  advice. 

The  medical  advisers  could  find  no  proof  of  insanity,  though  a 
list  of  sixteen  symptoms  had  been  submitted  to  them.  The 
strongest,  according  to  Moore,  was  the  dashing  to  pieces  of  a 
'favourite  old  watch'  in  an  excess  of  fury.  A  similar  anecdote 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON  523 

(HODGSON,  ii.  6)  was  told  of  his  throwing  a  jar  of  ink  out  of  window, 
and  his  excitement  at  the  theatre  is  also  suggested.  Lady  Byron 
upon  hearing  the  medical  opinion  immediately  decided  upon 
separation.  Dr.  Baillie  and  a  lawyer,  by  Lady  Noel's  desire, 
'almost  forced  themselves  upon  Byron'  (MEDWIN,  p.  46),  and  con- 
firmed Le  Mann's  report.  On  25  Jan.  1816  Lady  Byron  tells 
Mrs.  Leigh  that  she  must  resign  the  right  to  be  her  sister,  but 
hopes  that  no  difference  will  be  made  in  their  feelings.  From  this 
time  she  consistently  adhered  to  the  view  finally  set  forth  in  her 
statement  in  1830.  Her  letters  to  Mrs.  Leigh,  to  Hodgson,  who 
had  ventured  to  intervene,  and  her  last  letter  to  Byron  (13  Feb. 
1816),  take  the  same  ground.  Byron  had  been  guilty  of  conduct 
inexcusable  if  he  were  an  accountable  agent,  and  therefore  making 
separation  a  duty  when  his  moral  responsibility  was  proved.  She 
tells  Mrs.  Leigh  and  Hodgson  that  he  married  her  out  of  revenge ; 
she  tells  Hodgson  (15  Feb.)  that  her  security  depended  on  the 
1  total  abandonment  of  every  moral  and  religious  principle,'  and 
tells  Byron  himself  that  to  her  affectionate  remonstrances  and 
forewarnings  of  consequences  he  had  replied  by  a  'determination 
to  be  wicked  though  it  should  break  my  heart.' 

On  2  Feb.  1816  Sir  R.  Noel  proposed  an  amicable  separation  to 
Byron,  which  he  at  first  rejected.  Lady  Byron  went  to  London 
and  saw  Dr.  Lushington,  who,  with  Sir  S.  Romilly,  had  been  con- 
sulted by  Lady  Noel,  and  had  then  spoken  of  possible  reconciliation. 
Lady  Byron  now  informed  him  of  facts  'utterly  unknown/  he 
says, '  I  have  no  doubt,  to  Sir  R.  and  Lady  Noel.'  His  opinion  was 
'entirely  changed.'  He  thought  reconciliation  impossible,  and 
should  it  be  proposed  he  could  take  no  part,  'professionally  or 
otherwise,  towards  effecting  it.'  Mrs.  Leigh  requested  an  inter- 
view soon  after,  which  Lady  Byron  declined  'with  the  greatest 
pain.'  Lushington  had  forbidden  any  such  interview,  as  they 
'might  be  called  upon  to  answer  for  the  most  private  conversation.' 
In  a  following  letter  (neither  dated)  Lady  Byron  begs  for  the  inter- 
view which  she  had  refused.  She  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  not 
meeting,  and  the  'grounds  of  the  case  are  in  some  degree  changed' 
(Addit.  MS.  31037,  ff.  33,  34).  According  to  Lady  Byron's  state- 
ment (in  1830)  Byron  consented  to  the  separation  upon  being  told 
that  the  matter  must  otherwise  come  into  court.  We  may  easily 


524  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

believe  that,  as  Mrs.  Leigh  tells  Mr.  Horton,  Byron  would  be 
happy  to  'escape  the  exposure,'  whatever  its  precise  nature.  He 
afterwards  threw  the  responsibility  for  reticence  on  the  other  side. 
He  gave  a  paper  to  Mr.  Lewis,  dated  at  La  Mira  in  1817,  saying 
that  Hobhouse  had  challenged  the  other  side  to  come  into  court; 
that  he  only  yielded  because  Lady  Byron  had  claimed  a  promise 
that  he  would  consent  to  a  separation  if  she  really  desired  it.  He 
declares  his  ignorance  of  the  charges  against  him,  and  his  desire  to 
meet  them  openly.  This  paper  was  apparently  shown  only  to  a 
few  friends.  It  was  first  made  public  in  the  '  Academy '  of  9  Oct. 

1869.  Hobhouse  (see  Quarterly  Review  for  October  1869,  January 

1870,  and  July  1883)  also  said  that  Byron  was  quite  ready  to  go 
into  court,  and  that  Wilmot  Horton  on  Lady  Byron's  part  dis- 
claimed all  the  current  scandals.     It  would  seem,  however,  Byron 
could  have  forced  an  open  statement  had  he  really  chosen  to  do  so. 
This  paper  shows  his  consciousness  that  he  ought  to  have  done  it  if 
his  case  had  been  producible.     Lady  Byron  tells  Hodgson  at  the 
time  (15  Feb.  1816)  he  'does  know,  too  well,  what  he  affects  to 
inquire.' 

The  question  remains,  what  were  the  specific  charges  which 
decided  Lady  Byron  and  Lushington?  A  happy  marriage  be- 
tween persons  so  little  congenial  would  have  surprised  his  best 
friends.  So  far  we  might  well  accept  the  statement  which  Moore 
assigns  to  him:  'My  dear  sir,  the  causes  were  too  simple  to  be 
easily  found  out.'  But  this  will  not  explain  Lady  Byron's  state- 
ments at  the  time,  nor  the  impression  made  upon  Lushington  by 
her  private  avowal.  Lady  Byron  only  exchanged  the  hypothesis  of 
insanity  for  that  of  diabolical  pride.  Byron's  lifelong  habit  of 
'inverse  hypocrisy'  may  account  for  something.  Harness  reports 
(p.  32)  that  he  used  to  send  paragraphs  to  foreign  papers  injurious 
to  his  own  character  in  order  to  amuse  himself  by  mystifying  the 
English  public.  Some  of  Lady  Byron's  statements  may  strengthen 
the  belief  that  she  had  taken  some  such  foolish  brags  too  seriously. 

Other  explanations  have  been  offered.  In  1856  Lady  Byron 
told  a  story  to  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe.  She  thought  that  by  blasting 
his  memory  she  might  weaken  the  evil  influence  of  his  writings, 
and  shorten  his  expiation  in  another  world.  Lady  Byron  died  in 
1860.  After  the  publication  of  the  Guiccioli  memoirs  in  1868, 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  525 

Mrs.  Stowe  thought  it  her  duty  to  publish  the  story  in  'Macmillan's 
Magazine'  for  September  1869  and  the  'Atlantic  Monthly.'  Her 
case  is  fully  set  forth,  with  documents  and  some  explanations,  in 
'Lady  Byron  Vindicated;  a  History  of  the  Byron  Controversy,' 
1870.  According  to  Mrs.  Stowe,  Lady  Byron  accused  her  husband 
to  Lushington  of  an  incestuous  intrigue  with  Mrs.  Leigh.  An 
examination  of  all  that  is  known  of  Mrs.  Leigh  (see  Quarterly 
Review,  July  1869),  of  the  previous  relations  between  brother  and 
sister,  and  especially  of  Lady  Byron's  affectionate  relations  to  Mrs. 
Leigh  at  the  time,  as  revealed  in  letters  since  published,  proves  this 
hideous  story  to  be  absolutely  incredible.  Till  1830  Mrs.  Leigh 
continued  to  be  on  good  terms  with  Lady  Byron,  and  had  conveyed 
messages  between  Byron  and  his  wife  during  his  life.  The  ap- 
pointment of  a  trustee  under  Byron's  marriage  settlements  in  1830 
led  to  a  disagreement.  Lady  Byron  refused  with  consider- 
able irritation  a  request  made  by  Mrs.  Leigh.  All  acquaintance 
dropped,  till  in  1851  Lady  Byron  consented  to  an  interview.  Mrs. 
Leigh  was  anxious  to  declare  that  she  had  not  (as  she  supposed 
Lady  Byron  to  believe  that  she  had)  encouraged  Byron's  bitterness 
of  feeling  towards  his  wife.  Lady  Byron  replied  simply,  '  Is  that 
all?'  No  further  communication  followed,  and  Mrs.  Leigh  died 
1 8  Oct.  1851.  It  can  only  be  surmised  that  Lady  Byron  had  be- 
come jealous  of  Byron's  public  and  pointed  expressions  of  love  for 
his  sister,  contrasted  so  forcibly  with  his  utterances  about  his  wife, 
and  in  brooding  over  her  wrongs  had  developed  the  hateful  sus- 
picion communicated  to  Mrs.  Stowe,  and,  as  it  seems,  to  others. 
It  appears  too,  from  a  passage  in  the  Guiccioli  memoirs,  that  at 
a  time  when  Byron  was  accused  of  'every  monstrous  vice,'  his 
phrases  about  his  pure  fraternal  affection  suggested  some  such 
addition  to  the  mass  of  calumny  ('Reminiscences  of  an  Attache/ 
by  Hubert  Jerningham  (1886),  contains  a  curious  statement  by 
Mme.  Guiccioli  as  to  Byron's  strong  affection  for  his  sister). 

Another  suggestion  made  by  Mr.  Jeaffreson,  that  the  cause  was 
a  connection  formed  by  Byron  about  the  time  of  the  first  separation 
with  Jane  Clairmont,  daughter,  by  a  previous  marriage,  of  William 
Godwin's  second  wife,  seems  quite  inadmissible.  It  entirely  fails 
to  explain  Lady  Byron's  uniform  assertions  at  the  time  and  in  1830 
(see  ante,  and  letter  to  Lady  Anne  Barnard,  published  by  Lord 


526  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Lindsay  in  the  'Times'  in  September  1869)  that  Byron  had  been 
guilty  of  conduct  excusable  only  on  the  ground  of  insanity,  and 
continued  during  their  whole  cohabitation.  Byron's  extreme  wrath 
against  a  Mrs.  Clermont  (a  former  governess  of  Lady  Byron's), 
whom  he  accused  (MEDWIN,  p.  43)  of  breaking  open  a  desk,  seems 
to  suggest  that  some  discovery  was  made  subsequently  to  Lady 
Byron's  departure  from  London,  but  affords  no  confirmation  of  this 
hypothesis. 

The  problem  must  remain  unsolved.  The  scandal  excited  a 
general  explosion  of  public  indignation.  In  some  '  Observations 
upon  an  article  in  "  Black  wood's  Magazine"'  (dated  15  March 
1820,  but  not  published  till  after  Byron's  death)  Byron  describes 
the  state  of  feeling ;  he  was  accused  of  '  every  monstrous  vice ; ' 
advised  not  to  go  to  the  theatre  or  to  parliament  for  fear  of  public 
insults,  and  his  friends  feared  violence  from  the  mob  when  he 
started  in  his  travelling  carriage.  This  indignation,  perhaps  ex- 
aggerated (see  HOBHOUSE  in  Westminster  Review),  has  been  ridi- 
culed ;  and  doubtless  included  mean  and  hateful  elements  — 
love  of  scandal  and  delight  in  trampling  on  a  great  name.  Yet  it 
was  not  unnatural.  Byron's  very  guarded  sceptical  utterances  in 
'Childe  Harold'  frightened  Dallas  into  a  formal  and  elaborate 
protest,  and  shocked  a  sensitive  public  extravagantly.  He  had 
been  posing  as  a  rebel  against  all  the  domestic  proprieties.  So  long 
as  his  avowed  license  could,  pass  for  a  literary  affectation,  or  be 
condoned  in  the  spirit  of  the  general  leniency  shown  to  wild  young 
men  in  the  era  of  the  prince  regent,  the  protest  was  confined  to  the 
stricter  classes.  But  when  a  Lara  passed  from  the  regions  of  fancy 
to  13  Piccadilly  Terrace,  matters  became  more  serious.  Byron 
was  outraging  a  woman  of  the  highest  character  and  with  the  strong- 
est claims  on  his  tenderness ;  and  a  feeling  arose  such  as  that  which, 
soon  afterwards,  showed  itself  when  the  prince  regent  passed  from 
simple  immorality  to  the  persecution  of  a  wife  with  infinitely 
less  claims  to  respect  than  Lady  Byron's.  Lady  Caroline  Lamb 
claimed  her  part  in  the  outcry  by  her  wild  novel  of  '  Glenarvon,' 
published  at  this  time. 

The  separation  was  signed,  and  Byron  left  his  country  for  ever. 
Some  friends  still  stood  by  him.  Lady  Jersey  earned  his  lasting 
gratitude  by  giving  an  assembly  in  his  honour;  and  Miss  Mercer 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  527 

(afterwards  Lady  Keith)  met  him  there  with  marked  cordiality. 
Leigh  Hunt  in  the  '  Examiner '  and  Perry  in  the  '  Morning  Chroni- 
cle' defended  him.  Mrs.  Leigh's  affection  was  his  chief  comfort, 
when  even  his  cousin  George  took  his  wife's  part  (MEDWIN,  p.  49). 
Two  poems  appeared  in  the  papers,  through  the  'injudicious  zeal 
of  a  friend,'  says  Moore,  in  the  middle  of  April.  'A  Sketch' 
(dated  29  March)  is  a  savage  onslaught  upon  Mrs.  Clermont. 
'Fare  thee  well'  (dated  17  March),  written  with  tears,  it  is  said,  the 
marks  of  which  still  blot  the  manuscript,  expostulates  pathetically 
with  his  wife  for  inflicting  a  'cureless  wound.'  On  8  March  Byron 
told  Moore  that  there  was  '  never  a  brighter,  kinder,  or  more  ami- 
able and  agreeable  being'  than  Lady  Byron,  and  that  no  blame 
attached  to  her.  He  appeals  to  Rogers  (25  March)  to  confirm  his 
statement  that  he  had  never  attacked  her.  In  1823  he  repeated 
this  statement  to  Lady  Blessington  (p.  117).  In  fact,  however,  he 
oscillated  between  attempts  to  preserve  the  air  of  an  injured  yet 
forgiving  husband  and  outbursts  of  bitterness.  At  the  instance  of 
Mme.  de  Stael  he  made  some  kind  of  overture  for  reconciliation  in 
1816,  and  (apparently)  upon  its  failure  wrote  the  'Dream,'  in- 
tended to  show  that  his  love  had  always  been  reserved  for  Mary 
Chaworth ;  and  a  novel  upon  the  '  Marriage  of  Belphegor,'  rep- 
resenting his  own  story.  He  destroyed  it,  says  Moore,  on  hearing 
of  her  illness;  but  a  fragment  is  given  in  the  notes  to  'Don  Juan.' 
In  a  poem  written  at  the  same  time,  '  On  hearing  that  Lady  Byron 
was  ill,'  he  attacks  her  implacability,  and  calls  her  a  -moral  Cly- 
temnestra.'  He  never  met  Lady  Blessington  without  talking  of 
his  domestic  troubles.  He  showed  an  (unsent)  conciliatory  letter, 
and  apologised  for  public  allusions  in  his  works.  Some  angry 
communications  were  suppressed  by  his  friends,  but  the  allusions 
in  the  last  cantos  of  'Childe  Harold'  and  in  'Don  Juan'  were 
unpardonable.  While  Byron  was  bemoaning  his  griefs  to  even 
casual  acquaintance  with  a  strange  incontinence  of  language,  and 
circulating  letters  and  lampoons,  his  occasional  conciliatory  moods 
were  of  little  importance.  Lady  Blessington  remarks  on  his 
curious  forgetfulness  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  consoled  himself 
when  he  complained  of  his  wife's  implacability.  Her  dignified 
reticence  irritated  and  puzzled  him,  and  his  prevailing  tone  only 
illustrates  the  radical  incompatibility  of  their  characters. 


528  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Byron  sailed  for  Ostend  (24  April  1816)  with  a  young  Italian 
doctor,  Polidori,  a  Swiss  and  two  English  servants,  Rushton  and 
Fletcher,  who  had  both  started  with  him  in  1809.  Byron's  good 
nature  to  his  servants  was  an  amiable  point  in  his  character.  Har- 
ness describes  the  'hideous  old  woman'  who  had  nursed  him  in  his 
lodgings  and  followed  him  through  all  his  English  establishments, 
and  speaks  of  his  kindness  to  an  old  butler,  Murray,  at  Newstead. 
Byron  travelled  in  a  large  coach,  imitated  from  Napoleon's,  carry- 
ing bed,  library,  and  kitchen,  besides  a  caleche  bought  at  Brussels. 
His  expenses  were  considerable,  and  his  scruples  about  copyright 
soon  vanished.  In  1817  he  was  bargaining  sharply  with  Murray. 
He  demanded  6oo/.  for  the  'Lament  of  Tasso'  and  the  last  act 
of  'Manfred'  (9  May  1817).  On  4  Sept.  1817  he  asks  2,5<x>/. 
instead  of  i,5oo/.  for  the  fourth  canto  of  '  Childe  Harold,'  accepting 
ultimately  2,000  guineas.  The  sums  paid  by  Murray  for  copyrights 
to  the  end  of  1821  amounted  to  1 5,455^,  including  the  amounts 
made  over  to  Dallas.  He  must  have  received  at  least  12,500^. 
at  this  period,  and  the  i,ioo/.  for  'Parisina'  and  the  'Siege  of 
Corinth'  was  in  Murray's  hands.  In  November  1817  he  at  last 
sold  Newstead  for  90,000  guineas.  Payment  of  debts  and  mort- 
gages left  the  6o,ooo/.  settled  upon  Lady  Byron,  the  income  of  which 
was  payable  to  Byron  during  his  life.  He  was  aggrieved  by  the 
refusal  of  his  trustees  in  1820  to  invest  this  in  a  mortgage  on 
Lord  Blessington's  estates  (Diary,  24  Jan.  1821;  Letter  374). 
Hanson,  Byron's  solicitor-,  went  to  Venice  to  obtain  his  signature 
to  the  necessary  deeds  in  November  1818  (HODGSON,  ii.  53). 
Byron  declared  that  he  would  receive  no  advantage  from  Lady 
Byron's  property.  On  the  death  of  Lady  Noel  in  1822,  however, 
her  fortune  of  7,ooo/.  or  8,ooo/.  a  year  was  divided  equally  between 
her  daughter  and  Byron  by  arbitrators  (Sir  F.  Burdett  and  Lord 
Dacre) ;  and  such  a  division  had,  it  seems,  been  provided  for  in 
the  deed  of  separation  (HOBHOUSE  in  Westminster  Review,  January 
1825).  Byron  then  became  a  rich  man  for  his  Italian  position, 
and  grew  careful  of  money.  He  spent  much  time  in  settling  his 
weekly  bills  (TRELAWNY,  ii.  75),  and  affected  avarice  as  a  'good 
old  gentlemanly  vice.'  But  this  must  be  taken  as  partly  humor- 
ous, and  he  was  still  capable  of  munificence. 

From  Brussels  Byron  visited  Waterloo,  and  thence  went  to 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  529 

Geneva  by  the  Rhine,  where  (June  1816)  he  took  the  Villa  Diodati, 
on  the  Belle  Rive,  a  promontory  on  the  south  side  of  the  lake  (see 
Notes  and  Queries,  5th  ser.  viii.  i,  24,  115).  Here  Byron  met 
the  Shelleys  and  Miss  Clairmont.  Miss  Clairmont  came  ex- 
pressly to  meet  him,  but  it  is  authoritatively  stated  that  the  Shelleys 
were  not  in  her  confidence.  The  whole  party  became  the  objects 
of  curiosity  and  scandal.  Tourists  gazed  at  Byron  through  tele- 
scopes (see  letter  from  Shelley,  GUICCIOLI,  i.  97).  When  he  visited 
Mme.  de  Stae'l  at  Cappet,  a  Mrs.  Hervey  thought  proper  to  faint. 
Southey  was  in  Switzerland  this  year,  and  Byron  believed  that  he 
had  spread  stories  in  England  imputing  gross  immorality  to  the 
whole  party.  They  amused  themselves  one  rainy  week  by  writing 
ghost  stories;  Mrs.  Shelley  began  'Frankenstein,'  and  Byron  a 
fragment  called  'The  Vampire,'  from  which  Polidori  'vamped 
up '  a  novel  of  the  same  name.  It  passed  as  Byron's  in  France  and 
had  some  success.  Polidori,  a  fretful  and  flighty  youth,  quarrelled 
with  his  employer,  proposed  to  challenge  Shelley,  and  left  Byron 
for  Italy.  He  was  sent  out  of  Milan  for  a  quarrel  with  an  Austrian 
officer,  but  afterwards  got  some  patients.  Byron  tried  to  help  him, 
and  recommended  him  to  Murray  (Letters  275,  285).  He  com- 
mitted suicide  in  1821.  Byron  and  Shelley  made  a  tour  of  the  lake 
in  June  (described  in  Shelley's  'Six  Weeks'  Tour'),  and  were 
nearly  lost  in  a  storm.  Two  rainy  days  at  Ouchy  produced  Byron's 
'Prisoner  of  Chillon;'  and  about  the  same  time  he  finished  the 
third  canto  of  'Childe  Harold.'  Shelley,  as  Byron  told  Medwin 
(p.  237),  had  dosed  him  with  Wordsworth  'even  to  nausea,'  and 
the  influence  is  apparent  in  some  of  his  '  Childe  Harold '  stanzas 
(see  Wordsworth's  remarks  in  MOORE'S  Diary  (1853),  iii.  161). 
In  September  Byron  made  a  tour  in  the  Bernese  Oberland  with 
Hobhouse,  and,  as  his  diary  shows,  worked  up  his  impressions  of 
the  scenery.  At  the  Villa  Diodati  he  wrote  the  stanzas  'To  Au- 
gusta' and  the  verses  addressed  to  'My  sweet  sister,'  which  by 
her  desire  were  suppressed  till  after  his  death.  Here,  too,  he  wrote 
the  monody  on  the  death  of  Sheridan,  and  the  striking  fragment 
called  'Darkness.' 

On  29  Aug.  the  Shelley  party  left  for  England.  In  January 
1817  Miss  Clairmont  gave  birth  to  Allegra,  Byron's  daughter. 
The  infant  was  sent  to  him  at  Venice  with  a  Swiss  nurse,  and 


530  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

placed  under  the  care  of  the  Hoppners.  Byron  declined  an  offer 
from  a  Mrs.  Vavasour  to  adopt  the  girl,  refusing  to  abdicate  his 
paternal  authority  as  the  lady  desired.  He  afterwards  sent  for 
the  child  to  Bologna  in  August  1819,  and  kept  her  with  him  at 
Venice  and  Ravenna  till  April  1821,  when  he  placed  her  in  a  con- 
vent at  Bagna-Cavallo  (twelve  miles  from  Ravenna),  paying 
double  fees  to  insure  good  treatment.  He  wished  her,  he  said, 
to  be  a  Roman  catholic,  and  left  her  5,000^.  for  a  marriage  portion. 
The  mother  vehemently  protested  against  this  (Eg.  MS.  2332), 
but  the  Shelleys  approved  (To  Hoppner,  n  May  1821;  To 
Shelley,  26  April  1821).  The  child  improved  in  the  convent,  and 
is  described  by  Shelley  as  petted  and  happy  (GARNETT,  Select 
Letters  of  Shelley,  p.  171,  1882).  She  died  of  a  fever  20  April 
1822.  Byron  was  profoundly  agitated  by  the  news,  and,  as  the 
Countess  Guiccioli  says,  would  never  afterwards  pronounce  her 
name.  He  directed  her  to  be  buried  at  Harrow,  and  a  tablet  to 
be  erected  in  the  church,  at  a  spot  precisely  indicated  by  his 
school  recollections  (Letter  494).  Of  the  mother  he  spoke  with 
indifference  or  aversion  (BLESSINGTON,  p.  164).  Byron  and 
Hobhouse  crossed  the  Simplon,  and  reached  Milan  by  October. 
At  Milan  Beyle  (Stendhal)  saw  him  at  the  theatre,  and  has  de- 
scribed his  impressions  (see  his  Letter  first  published  in  Mme. 
BELLOC'S  Byron,  i.  353,  Paris,  1824).  He  went  by  Verona  to 
Venice,  intending  to  spend  the  winter  in  this  'the  greenest  island,' 
as  he  says,  'of  my  imagination.'  He  stayed  for  three  years,  tak- 
ing as  a  summer  residence  a  house  at  La  Mira  on  the  Brenta. 
April  and  May  1817  were  spent  in  a  visit  to  Rome,  whence,  5 
May,  he  sent  to  Murray  a  new  third  act  of  'Manfred,'  having 
heard  that  the  original  was  thought  unsatisfactory. 

On  arriving  at  Venice  he  found  that  his  'mind  wanted  some- 
thing craggy  to  break  upon'  (Letter  252),  and  he  set  to  work  learn- 
ing Armenian  at  the  monastery.  He  saw  something  of  the  literary 
salon  of  the  Countess  Albrizzi.  Mme.  Albrizzi  wrote  a  book  of 
portraits,  one  of  which  is  a  sketch  of  Byron,  published  by  Moore, 
and  not  without  interest.  He  became  bored  with  the  Venetian 
'blues,'  and  took  to  the  less  pretentious  salon  of  the  Countess 
Benzoni.  He  soon  plunged  into  worse  dissipations.  He  settled 
in  the  Palazzo  Mocenigo  on  the  Grand  Canal.  And  here,  in 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON  531 

ostentatious  defiance  of  the  world,  which  tried  to  take  the  form 
of  contempt,  he  abandoned  himself  to  degrading  excesses  which 
injured  his  constitution,  and  afterwards  produced  bitter  self- 
reproach.  'I  detest  every  recollection  of  the  place,  the  people, 
and  my  pursuits,'  he  said  to  Medwin  (p.  78).  Shelley,  whose  im- 
pressions of  a  visit  to  Byron  are  given  in  the  famous  'Julian  and 
Maddalo,'  says  afterwards  that  Byron  had  almost  destroyed  him- 
self. He  could  digest  no  food,  and  was  consumed  by  hectic  fever. 
Daily  rides  on  the  Lido  kept  him  from  prostration.  Moore  says 
that  Byron  would  often  leave  his  house  in  a  fit  of  disgust  to  pass 
the  night  in  his  gondola.  In  the  midst  of  this  debasing  life  his 
intellectual  activity  continued.  He  began  the  fourth  canto  of 
'Childe  Harold'  by  i  July  1817,  and  sent  126  stanzas  (afterwards 
increased  to  186)  to  Murray  on  20  July.  On  23  Oct.  he  states 
that  'Beppo,'  in  imitation,  as  he  says,  of  '  Whistlecraf t '  (J.  H. 
Frere),  is  nearly  finished.  It  was  sent  to  Murray  19  Jan.  1819, 
and  published  in  May.  This  experiment  led  to  his  greatest  per- 
formance. On  19  Sept.  1818  he  has  finished  the  first  canto  of 
'  Don  Juan.'  On  25  Jan.  1819  he  tells  Murray  to  print  fifty  copies 
for  private  distribution.  On  6  April  he  sends  the  second  canto. 
The  two  were  published  without  author's  or  publisher's  name  in 
July  1819.  The  third  canto  was  begun  in  October  1819.  The 
outcry  against  its  predecessors  had  disconcerted  him,  and  he  was 
so  put  out  by  hearing  that  a  Mr.  Saunders  had  called  it  '  all  Grub 
Street,'  as  to  lay  it  aside  for  a  time.  The  third  canto  was  split  into 
the  third  and  fourth  in  February  1820,  and  appeared  with  the  fifth, 
still  anonymously  and  without  the  publisher's  name,  in  August  1821. 
A  new  passion  had  altered  his  life.  In  April  1819  he  met  at 
the  Countess  Benzoni's  Teresa,  daughter  of  Count  Gamba  of 
Ravenna,  recently  married  at  the  age  of  sixteen  to  a  rich  widower 
of  sixty,  Count  Guiccioli,  also  of  Ravenna.  Her  beauty  is  de- 
scribed by  Moore,  an  American  painter  West,  who  took  her  portrait, 
Medwin,  and  Hunt.  She  had  regular  features,  a  fine  figure, 
rather  too  short  and  stout,  and  was  remarkable  among  Italians  for 
her  fair  complexion,  golden  hair  (see  JEAFFRESON,  ii.  80) ,  and  blue 
eyes.  She  at  once  conceived  a  passion  for  Byron,  and  they  met 
daily  at  Venice.  Her  husband  took  her  back  to  Ravenna  in  the 
same  month,  and  she  wrote  passionate  letters  to  Byron.  She  had 


532  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

fainted  three  times  on  her  first  day's  journey ;  her  mother's  death 
had  deeply  affected  her;  she  was  ill,  and  threatened  by  consump- 
tion; and  she  told  him  in  May  that  her  relations  would  receive 
him  at  Ravenna.  In  spite  of  heat  and  irresolution,  Byron  left  La 
Mira  on  2  June  1819,  and  moved  slowly,  and  after  some  hesitation, 
to  Ravenna,  writing  on  the  way  'River  that  rollest  by  the  ancient 
walls'  (first  published  by  Medwin).  Here  he  found  the  countess 
really  ill.  He  studied  medical  books,  she  says,  for  her  benefit, 
and  sent  for  Aglietti,  the  best  physician  in  Venice.  As  she  re- 
covered, Byron  felt  rather  awkward  under  the  polite  attentions 
of  her  husband,  though  her  own  relations  were  unfavourable. 
His  letters  to  her,  says  Moore,  show  genuine  passion.  His  letters 
to  Hoppner  show  a  more  ambiguous  interest.  He  desired  at  times 
to  escape  from  an  embarrassing  connection;  yet,  out  of  'wil- 
fulness,'  as  Moore  thinks,  when  she  was  to  go  with  her  husband  to 
Bologna,  he  asked  her  to  fly  with  him,  a  step  altogether  desperate 
according  to  the  code  of  the  time.  Though  shocked  by  the  pro- 
posal, she  suggested  a  sham  death,  after  the  Juliet  precedent. 
Byron  followed  the  Guicciolis  to  Bologna,  and  stayed  there  while 
they  made  a  tour  of  their  estates.  Hence  (23  Aug.)  he  sent  off  to 
Murray  his  cutting  'Letter  to  my  Grandmother's  Review.'  Two 
days  later  he  wrote  a  curious  declaration  of  love  to  the  countess  in 
a  volume  of  'Corinna'  left  in  her  house.  A  vehement  quarrel 
with  a  papal  captain  of  dragoons  for  selling  him  an  unsound  horse 
nearly  led  to  an  impromptu  duel  like  his  granduncle's.  On  the 
return  of  the  Guicciolis  the  count  left  for  Ravenna,  leaving  his 
wife  with  Byron  at  Bologna  'on  account  of  her  health.'  Her 
health  also  made  it  expedient  to  travel  with  Byron  to  Venice  by 
way  of  the  Euganean  Hills ;  and  at  Venice  the  same  cause  made 
country  air  desirable,  whereupon  Byron  politely  'gave  up  to  her 
his  house  at  La  Mira,'  and  'came  to  reside  there'  himself.  The 
whole  proceeding  was  so  like  an  elopement,  that  Venetian  society 
naturally  failed  to  make  a  distinction.  Moore  paid  a  visit  to 
Byron  at  this  time,  was  cordially  received  at  La  Mira,  and  lodged 
in  the  palace  at  Venice.  Hanson  had  described  Byron  in  the 
previous  year  as  'enormously  large'  (HODGSON,  ii.  2),  and  Moore 
was  struck  by  the  deterioration  of  his  looks.  He  found  that  his 
friend  had  given  up,  or  been  given  up  by,  Venetian  society. 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  533 

English  tourists  stared  at  him  like  a  wild  beast,  and  annoyed  him 
by  their  occasional  rudeness.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Byron  gave 
his  memoirs  to  Moore,  stipulating  only  that  they  should  not  appear 
during  his  lifetime.  Moore  observed  that  they  would  make  a  nice 
legacy  for  his  little  Tom.  Moore  was  alarmed  at  Byron's  position. 
The  Venetians  were  shocked  by  the  presence  of  his  mistress  under 
his  roof,  especially  as  he  had  before  'conducted  himself  so  ad- 
mirably.' A  proposed  trip  to  Rome,  to  which  Byron  had  almost 
consented,  was  abandoned  by  Moore's  advice,  as  it  would  look 
like  a  desertion  of  the  countess.  The  count  now  wrote  to  his  wife 
proposing  that  Byron  should  lend  him  i,ooo/.,  for  which  he  would 
pay  5  per  cent.;  the  loan  would  otherwise  be  an  avvilimento. 
Moore  exhorted  Byron  to  take  advantage  of  this  by  placing  the 
lady  again  under  her  husband's  protection,  a  result  which  would 
be  well  worth  the  money.  Byron  laughingly  declared  that  he 
would  'save  both  the  lady  and  the  money.'  The  count  himself 
came  to  Venice  at  the  end  of  October.  After  a  discussion,  in 
which  Byron  declined  to  interfere,  the  lady  agreed  to  return  to  her 
husband  and  break  with  her  lover.  Byron,  set  free,  almost  re- 
solved to  return  to  England.  Dreams  of  settling  in  Venezuela 
under  Bolivar's  new  republic  occasionally  amused  him,  and  he 
made  serious  inquiries  about  the  country.  The  return  to  England, 
made  desirable  by  some  business  affairs  (Letters  346,  359,  367), 
was  apparently  contemplated  as  a  step  towards  some  of  these  plans, 
though  he  also  thought  a  year  later  (Letter  403)  of  settling  in  Lon- 
don to  bring  out  a  paper  with  Moore.  In  truth,  he  was  restless, 
dissatisfied,  and  undecided.  He  shrank  from  any  decided  action, 
from  tearing  himself  from  Italy,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  from  such 
a  connection  with  the  countess  as  would  cause  misery  to  both 
unless  his  passion  were  more  durable  than  any  one,  he  least  of  all, 
could  expect.  The  journey  to  England  was  nearly  settled,  how- 
ever, when  he  was  delayed  by  an  illness  of  Allegra,  and  a  touch 
of  malaria  in  himself.  The  countess  again  wrote  to  him  that  she 
was  seriously  ill,  and  that  her  friends  would  receive  him.  While 
actually  ready  for  a  start  homewards,  he  suddenly  declared  that 
if  the  clock  struck  one  before  some  final  preparation  was  ready, 
he  would  stay.  It  struck,  and  he  gave  up  the  journey.  He  wrote 
to  the  countess  that  he  would  obey  her,  though  his  departure  would 


534  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

have  been  best  for  them  all.  At  Christmas  1819  he  was  back  in 
Ravenna. 

He  now  subsided  into  an  indolent  routine,  to  which  he  adhered 
with  curious  pertinacity.  Trelawny  describes  the  day  at  Pisa 
soon  afterwards,  and  agrees  with  Moore,  Hunt,  Medwin,  and 
Gamba.  He  rose  very  late,  took  a  cup  of  green  tea,  had  a  biscuit 
and  soda-water  at  two,  rode  out  and  practised  shooting,  dined 
most  abstemiously,  visited  the  Gambas  in  the  evening,  and  re- 
turned to  read  or  write  till  two  or  three  in  the  morning.  At  Ra- 
venna previously  and  afterwards  in  Greece  he  kept  nearly  to  the 
same  hours.  His  rate  of  composition  at  this  period  was  surprising. 
Medwin  says  that  after  sitting  with  Byron  till  two  or  three  the  poet 
would  next  day  produce  fresh  work.  He  discontinued  'Don 
Juan '  after  the  fifth  canto  in  disgust  at  its  reception,  and  in  com- 
pliance with  the  request  of  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  who  was  shocked 
at  its  cynicism.  In  February  1820  he  translated  the  'Morgante 
Maggiore;'  in  March  the  'Francesca  da  Rimini'  episode.  On 
4  April  he  began  his  first  drama,  the  'Marino  Faliero,'  finished  it 
1 6  July,  and  copied  it  out  by  17  Aug.  It  was  produced  at  Drury 
Lane  the  next  spring,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrance,  and  failed,  to 
his  great  annoyance.  '  Sardanapalus,'  begun  13  Jan.  1821,  was 
finished  13  May  (the  last  three  acts  in  a  fortnight).  The  'Two 
Foscari'  was  written  between  n  June  and  10  July;  'Cain,'  begun 
on  1 6  July,  was  finished  9  Sept.  The  'Deformed  Transformed' 
was  written  at  the  end  of  the  same  year.  '  Werner,'  a  mere  drama- 
tisation of  Harriet  Lee's  'Kruitzner'  in  the  'Canterbury  Tales,' 
was  written  between  18  Dec.  1821  and  20  Jan.  1822.  The  vigorous, 
though  perverse,  letters  to  Bowles  on  the  Pope  controversy  are  also 
dated  7  Feb.  and  25  March  1821.  No  literary  hack  could  have 
written  more  rapidly,  and  some  would  have  written  as  well.  The 
dramas  thus  poured  forth  at  full  speed  by  a  thoroughly  undra- 
matic  writer,  hampered  by  the  wish  to  preserve  the  'unities,' 
mark  (with  the  exception  of  '  Cain ')  his  lowest  level,  and  are  often 
mere  prose  broken  into  apparent  verse. 

Count  Guiccioli  began  to  give  trouble.  Byron  was  warned  not 
to  ride  in  the  forest  alone  for  fear  of  probable  assassination.  Guic- 
cioli's  long  acquiescence  had  turned  public  opinion  against  him, 
and  a  demand  for  separation  on  account  of  his  '  extraordinary 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON  535 

usage'  of  his  wife  came  from  her  friends.  On  12  July  a  papal 
decree  pronounced  a  separation  accordingly.  The  countess  was 
to  receive  2oo/.  a  year  from  her  husband,  to  live  under  the  paternal 
roof,  and  only  to  see  Byron  under  restrictions.  She  retired  to 
a  villa  of  the  Gambas  fifteen  miles  off,  where  Byron  rode  out  to  see 
her  'once  or  twice  a  month,'  passing  the  intervals  in  'perfect 
solitude.'  By  January  1821,  however  (Diary,  4  Jan.  1821),  she 
seems  to  have  been  back  in  Ravenna.  Byron  did  all  he  could 
(Diary,  24  Jan.  1821,  and  Letter  374)  to  prevent  her  from  leaving 
her  husband. 

Political  complications  were  arising.  Italy  was  seething  with 
the  Carbonaro  conspiracies.  The  Gambas  were  noted  liberals. 
Byron's  aristocratic  vanity  was  quite  consistent  with  a  conviction 
of  the  corruption  and  political  blindness  of  the  class  to  which  he 
boasted  of  belonging.  The  cant,  the  imbecility,  and  immorality 
of  the  ruling  classes  at  home  and  abroad  were  the  theme  of  much 
of  his  talk,  and  inspired  his  most  powerful  writing.  His  genuine 
hatred  of  war  and  pity  for  human  suffering  are  shown,  amidst  much 
affectation,  in  his  loftiest  verse.  Though  no  democrat  after  the 
fashion  of  Shelley,  he  was  a  hearty  detester  of  the  system  sup- 
ported by  the  Holy  alliance.  He  was  ready  to  be  a  leader  in  the 
revolutionary  movements  of  the  time.  The  walls  of  Ravenna 
were  placarded  with  *  Up  with  the  republic ! '  and  '  Death  to  the 
pope!'  Young  Count  Gamba  (Teresa's  brother)  soon  after- 
wards returned  to  Ravenna,  became  intimate  with  Byron,  and 
introduced  him  to  the  secret  societies.  On  8  Dec.  1820  the  com- 
mandant of  the  troops  in  Ravenna  was  mortally  wounded  in  the 
street.  Byron  had  the  man  carried  into  his  house  at  the  point  of 
death,  and  describes  the  event  in  'Don  Juan'  (v.  34).  It  was  due 
in  some  way  to  the  action  of  the  societies.  A  rising  in  the  Ro- 
magna  was  now  expected.  Byron  had  offered  a  subscription  of 
one  thousand  louis  to  the  constitutional  government  in  Naples, 
to  which  the  societies  looked  for  support.  He  had  become  head 
of  the  Americani,  a  section  of  the  Carbonari  (Letter  450),  and 
bought  some  arms  for  them,  which  during  the  following  crisis 
were  suddenly  returned  to  him,  and  had  to  be  concealed  in  his 
house  (Diary,  16  and  18  Feb.  1821).  An  advance  of  Austrian 
troops  caused  a  collapse  of  the  whole  scheme.  A  thousand  mem- 


536  SIR   LESLIE   STEPHEN 

bers  of  the  best  families  in  the  Roman  states  were  banished  (Letter 
439),  and  among  them  the  Gambas.  Mme.  Guiccioli  says  that  the 
government  hoped  by  exiling  them  to  get  rid  of  Byron,  whose 
position  as  an  English  nobleman  made  it  difficult  to  reach  him 
directly  for  his  suspected  relations  with  the  Carbonari.  The 
countess  helped,  perhaps  was  intentionally  worked  upon,  to  dis- 
lodge him.  Her  husband  requested  that  she  should  be  forced  to 
return  to  him  or  placed  in  a  convent.  Frightened  by  the  threat, 
she  escaped  to  her  father  and  brother  in  Florence. 

A  quarrel  in  which  a  servant  of  Byron's  proposed  to  stiletto  an 
officer  made  his  relations  with  the  authorities  very  unpleasant. 
The  poor  of  Ravenna  petitioned  that  the  charitable  Englishman 
might  be  asked  to  remain,  and  only  increased  the  suspicions  of 
the  government.  Byron  fell  into  one  of  his  usual  states  of  in- 
decision. Shelley,  at  his  request,  came  from  Pisa  to  consult,  and 
reports  him  greatly  improved  in  health  and  morals.  He  found 
Byron  occupying  splendid  apartments  in  the  palace  of  Count 
Guiccioli.  Byron  had  now,  he  says,  an  income  of  4,ooo/.  a  year, 
and  devoted  i,ooo/.  to  charity  (the  context  seems  to  disprove  the 
variant  reading  iool.),  an  expenditure  sufficient  to  explain  the 
feeling  at  Ravenna  mentioned  by  Mme.  Guiccioli.  Shelley,  by 
Byron's  desire,  wrote  to  the  countess,  advising  her  against  Switzer- 
land. In  reply  she  begged  Shelley  not  to  leave  Ravenna  without 
Byron,  and  Byron  begged  him  to  stay  and  protect  him  from  a 
relapse  into  his  old  habits.  Byron  lingered  at  Ravenna  till  29 
Oct.,  still  hoping,  it  seems,  for  a  recall  of  the  Gambas.  At  last  he 
got  in  motion,  with  many  sad  forebodings,  and  preceded  by  his 
family  of  monkeys,  dogs,  cats,  and  peahens.  He  met  Lord  Clare 
on  the  way  to  Bologna,  and  accompanied  Rogers  from  Bologna. 
Rogers  duly  celebrated  the  meeting  in  his  poem  on  Italy;  but 
Trelawny  (i.  50)  tells  how  Byron  grinned  sardonically  when  he 
saw  Rogers  seated  upon  a  cushion  under  which  was  concealed 
a  bitter  satire  written  by  Byron  upon  Rogers  himself  (it  was  after- 
wards published  in  'Fraser,'  January  1833).  Byron  settled  in 
the  Casa  Lanfranchi  at  Pisa,  an  old  ghost-haunted  palace,  which 
Trelawny  contrasted  with  the  cheerful  and  hospitable  abode  of 
the  Shelleys  (i.  85).  The  Gambas  occupied  part  of  the  same  palace 
(HUNT,  Byron,  i.  23).  Byron  again  saw  some  English  society. 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  537 

A  silly  Irishman  named  Taaffe,  author  of  a  translation  of  Dante, 
for  which  Byron  tried  to  find  a  publisher,  with  Medwin,  Trelawny, 
Shelley,  and  Williams,  were  his  chief  associates.  Medwin,  of 
the  24th  light  dragoons,  was  at  Pisa  from  30  Nov.  1821  till  15  March 
1822,  and  again  for  a  few  days  in  August.  Trelawny,  who  reached 
Pisa  early  in  1822,  and  was  afterwards  in  constant  intercourse 
with  Byron,  was  the  keenest  observer  who  has  described  him. 
Trelawny  insists  upon  his  own  superiority  in  swimming,  and  re- 
gards Byron  as  an  effeminate  pretender  to  masculine  qualities. 
Byron  turned  his  worst  side  to  such  a  man ;  yet  Trelawny  admits 
his  genuine  courage  and  can  do  justice  to  his  better  qualities. 

Mme.  Guiccioli  had  withdrawn  her  prohibition  of  'Don  Juan' 
on  promise  of  better  behaviour  (Letter  500).  On  8  Aug.  1822 
he  has  finished  three  more  cantos  and  is  beginning  another. 
Meanwhile  'Cain'  (published  December  1821)  had  produced 
hostile  reviews  and  attacks.  Scott  had  cordially  accepted  the 
dedication.  Moore's  timid  remonstrances  showed  the  set  of  public 
opinion.  When  Murray  applied  for  an  injunction  to  protect  his 
property  against  threatened  piracy,  Eldon  refused;  holding  (9 
Feb.  1822)  that  the  presumption  was  not  in  favour  of  the  innocent 
character  of  the  book.  Murray  had  several  manuscripts  of  Byron 
in  hand,  including  the  famous  'Vision  of  Judgment;'  and  this 
experience  increased  his  caution.  Byron  began  to  think  of  a  plan, 
already  suggested  to  Moore  in  1820,  of  starting  a  weekly  news- 
paper with  a  revolutionary  title,  such  as  '  I  Carbonari. '  In  Shelley's 
society  this  plan  took  a  new  shape.  It  was  proposed  to  get  Leigh 
Hunt  for  an  editor.  In  1813  Byron  had  visited  Hunt  when  im- 
prisoned for  a  libel  on  the  prince  regent.  Hunt  had  taken  Byron's 
part  in  the  'Examiner'  in  1816,  and  had  dedicated  to  him  the 
'Story  of  Rimini.'  Shelley  and  Byron  now  agreed  (in  spite  of 
Moore's  remonstrances  against  association  with  ill-bred  cockneys) 
to  bring  Leigh  Hunt  to  Italy.  They  assumed  that  Hunt  would 
retain  his  connection  with  the  'Examiner,'  of  which  his  brother 
John  was  proprietor  (see  TRELAWNY,  ii.  53).  Hunt  threw  up  this 
position  without  their  knowledge,  and  started  for  Italy  with  his 
wife  and  six  children.  Shelley  explained  to  Hunt  (26  Aug.  1821) 
that  he  was  himself  to  be  'only  a  sort  of  link,'  neither  partner  nor 
sharer  in  the  profits.  He  sent  i5o/.,  to  which  Byron,  taking 


538  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Shelley's  security,  added  2ool.  to  pay  Hunt's  expenses.  Hunt  re- 
proaches Byron  as  being  moved  solely  by  an  expectation  of  large 
profits  (not  in  itself  an  immoral  motive).  The  desire  to  have  an 
organ  under  his  own  command,  with  all  consequent  advantages, 
is  easily  intelligible.  When  Hunt  landed  at  Leghorn  at  the  end 
of  June  1822,  Byron  and  Shelley  found  themselves  saddled  with 
the  whole  Hunt  family,  to  be  supported  by  the  hypothetical  profits 
of  the  new  journal,  while  Hunt  asserted  and  acted  upon  the  doctrine 
that  he  was  under  no  disgrace  in  accepting  money  obligations. 
Hunt  took  up  his  abode  on  the  ground-floor  of  the  palace.  His 
children,  says  Trelawny,  were  untamed,  while  Hunt  considers 
that  they  behaved  admirably  and  were  in  danger  of  corruption 
from  Byron.  Trelawny  describes  Byron  as  disgusted  at  the  very 
start  and  declaring  that  the  journal  would  be  an  'abortion.'  His 
reception  of  Mrs.  Hunt,  according  to  Williams,  was  'shameful.' 
Mrs.  Hunt  naturally  retorted  the  dislike,  and  Hunt  reported  one 
of  her  sharp  sayings  to  Byron,  in  order,  as  he  says,  to  mortify  him. 
No  men  could  be  less  congenial.  Byron's  aristocratic  loftiness  en- 
countered a  temper  forward  to  take  offence  at  any  presumption 
of  inequality.  Byron  had  provided  Hunt  with  lodgings,  furnished 
them  decently,  and  doled  out  to  him  about  ioo/.  through  his  steward, 
a  proceeding  which  irritated  Hunt,  who  loved  a  cheerful  giver. 
Shelley's  death  (8  July)  left  the  two  men  face  to  face  in  this  un- 
comfortable relation. 

The  'Liberal,'  so  named  by  Byron,  survived  through  four  num- 
bers. It  made  a  moderate  profit,  which  Byron  abandoned  to 
Hunt  (HUNT,  i.  87,  ii.  412),  but  he  was  disgusted  from  the  outset, 
and  put  no  heart  into  the  experiment.  He  told  his  friends,  and 
probably  persuaded  himself,  that  he  had  engaged  in  the  journal 
out  of  kindness  to  the  Hunts,  and  to  help  a  friend  of  Shelley's; 
and  takes  credit  for  feeling  that  he  could  not  turn  the  Hunts  into 
the  street.  His  chief  contributions,  the  'Vision  of  Judgment' 
and  the  letter  'To  my  Grandmother's  Review,'  appeared  in  the 
first  number,  to  the  general  scandal.  'Heaven  and  Earth' 
appeared  in  the  second  number,  the  'Blues'  in  the  third,  the 
'  Morgante  Maggiore '  in  the  fourth,  and  a  few  epigrams  were  added. 
Hunt  and  Hazlitt,  who  wrote  five  papers  (Memoirs  of  HazlUt, 
ii.  73),  did  most  of  the  remainder,  which,  however,  had  clearly 


THE   LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  539 

not  the  seeds  of  life  in  it.  The  'Vision  of  Judgment'  was  the 
hardest  blow  struck  in  a  prolonged  and  bitter  warfare.  Byron 
had  met  Southey,  indeed,  at  Holland  House  in  1813,  and  speaks 
favourably  of  him,  calls  his  prose  perfect,  and  professes  to  envy 
his  personal  beauty  (Diary,  22  Nov.  1813).  His  belief  that 
Southey  had  spread  scandalous  stories  about  the  Swiss  party  in 
1816  gave  special  edge  to' his  revived  antipathy.  In  1818  he  dedi- 
cated 'Don  Juan'  to  Southey  in  'good  simple  savage  verse'  (Let- 
ter 322),  bitterly  taunting  the  poet  as  a  venal  renegade.  In  1821 
Southey  published  his  'Vision  of  Judgment,'  an  apotheosis  of 
George  III,  of  grotesque  (though  most  unintentional)  profanity. 
In  the  preface  he  alludes  to  Byron  as  leader  of  the  'Satanic  school.' 
Byron  in  return  denounced  Southey's  -'calumnies'  and  'cowardly 
ferocity.'  Southey  retorted  in  the  'Courier'  (n  Jan.  1822),  boast- 
ing that  he  had  fastened  Byron's  name  'upon  the  gibbet  for 
reproach  and  ignominy,  so  long  as  it  shall  endure.'  Medwin 
(p.  179)  describes  Byron's  fury  on  reading  these  courtesies.  He 
instantly  sent  off  a  challenge  in  a  letter  (6  Feb.  1822)  to  Douglas 
Kinnaird,  who  had  the  sense  to  suppress  it.  His  own  'Vision  of 
Judgment,'  written  by  i  Oct.  1821,  was  already  in  the  hands  of 
Murray,  now  troubled  by  '  Cain.'  Byron  now  swore  that  it  should 
be  published,  and  it  was  finally  transferred  by  Murray  to  Hunt. 
Byron  meanwhile  had  been  uprooted  from  Pisa.  A  silly  squabble 
took  place  in  the  street  (21  March  1822),  in  which  Byron's  servant 
stabbed  an  hussar  (see  depositions  in  MEDWIN).  Byron  spent 
some  weeks  in  the  summer  at  Monte  Nero,  near  Leghorn  (where 
he  and  Mme.  Guiccioli  sat  to  the  American  painter  West),  and 
returned  to  Pisa  in  July.  About  the  same  time  the  Gambas  were 
ordered  to  leave  Tuscan  territory.  Byron's  stay  at  Pisa  had  been 
marked  by  the  death  of  Allegra  (20  April)  and  of  Shelley  (8  July). 
Details  of  the  ghastly  ceremony  of  burning  the  bodies  of  Williams 
and  Shelley  (15  and  16  Aug.)  are  given  by  Trelawny,  with  char- 
acteristic details  of  Byron's  emotion  and  hysterical  affectation 
of  levity.  Shelley,  who  exaggerated  Byron's  poetical  merits  (see 
his  enthusiastic  eulogy  of  the  fifth  canto  of  '  Don  Juan '  on  his  visit 
to  Pisa),  was  kept  at  a  certain  distance  by  his  perception  of  Byron's 
baser  qualities.  Byron  had  always  respected  Shelley  as  a  man 
of  simple,  lofty,  and  unworldly  character,  and  as  undeniably  a 


540  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

gentleman  by  birth  and  breeding.  Shelley,  according  to  Trelawny 
(i.  80),  was  the  only  man  to  whom  Byron  talked  seriously  and  con- 
fidentially. He  told  Moore  that  Shelley  was  '  the  least  selfish  and 
the  mildest  of  men,'  and  added  to  Murray  that  he  was  'as  perfect 
a  gentleman  as  ever  crossed  a  drawing-room '  (Letters  482  and  506). 
He  was,  however,  capable  of  believing  and  communicating  to 
Hoppner  scandalous  stories  about  the  Shelleys  and  Claire,  and 
of  meanly  suppressing  Mrs.  Shelley's  confutation  of  the  story  (see 
Mr.  Froude  in  Nineteenth  Century,  August  1883;  and  Mr. 
Jeaffreson's  reply  in  the  Athen&um,  i  and  22  Sept.  1883). 

Trelawny  had  stimulated  the  nautical  tastes  of  Byron  and 
Shelley.  Captain  Roberts,  a  naval  friend  of  his  at  Genoa,  built 
an  open  boat  for  Shelley,  and  a  schooner,  called  the  Bolivar,  for 
Byron.  Trelawny  manned  her  with  five  sailors  and  brought  her 
round  to  Leghorn.  Byron  was  annoyed  by  the  cost ;  knew  noth- 
ing, says  Trelawny,  of  the  sea,  and  could  never  be  induced  to  take 
a  cruise  in  her.  When  Byron  left  Pisa,  after  a  terrible  hubbub 
of  moving  his  household  and  his  baggage,  Trelawny  sailed  in  the 
Bolivar,  Byron's  servants  following  in  one  felucca,  the  Hunts  in 
another,  Byron  travelling  by  land.  They  met  at  Lerici.  Byron 
with  Trelawny  swam  out  to  the  Bolivar,  three  miles,  and  back. 
The  effort  cost  him  four  days'  illness.  On  his  recovery  he  went 
to  Genoa  and  settled  in  the  Casa  Salucci  at  Albaro ;  the  Gambas 
occupying  part  of  the  same  house.  Trelawny  laid  up  the  Bolivar, 
afterwards  sold  to  Lord  Blessington  for  four  hundred  guineas 
(TRELAWNY,  i.  62),  and  early  next  year  went  off  on  a  ramble  to 
Rome.  Lord  and  Lady  Blessington,  with  Count  d'Orsay,  soon 
afterwards  arrived  at  Genoa ;  and  Lady  Blessington  has  recorded 
her  conversations  with  Byron.  His  talk  with  her  was  chiefly  senti- 
mental monologue  about  himself.  Trelawny  says  that  he  was 
a  spoilt  child;  the  nickname  'Baby  Byron'  (given  to  him,  says 
HUNT,  i.  139,  by  Mrs.  Leigh)  'fitted  him  to  a  T'  (TRELAWNY,  i. 
56).  His  waywardness,  his  strange  incontinence  of  speech,  his 
outbursts  of  passion,  his  sensitiveness  to  all  that  was  said  of  him 
come  out  vividly  in  these  reports. 

His  health  was  clearly  enfeebled.  Residence  in  the  swampy 
regions  of  Venice  and  Ravenna  had  increased  his  liability  to 
malaria  (see  Letter  311).  His  restlessness  and  indecision  grew 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   BYRON  541 

upon  him.  His  passion  for  Madame  Guiccioli  had  never  blinded 
him  to  its  probable  dangers  for  both.  This  experience  had  made 
him  sceptical  as  to  the  durability  of  his  passions;  especially  for 
a  girl  not  yet  of  age,  and  of  no  marked  force  of  intellect  or  char- 
acter. Hunt  speaks  of  a  growing  coldness,  which  affected  her 
spirits  and  which  she  injudiciously  resented.  Byron's  language 
to  Lady  Blessington  (BLESSINGTON,  pp.  68  and  117)  shows  that 
the  bonds  were  acknowledged  but  no  longer  cherished.  He  talked 
of  returning  to  England,  of  settling  in  America,  of  buying  a  Greek 
island,  of  imitating  Lady  Hester  Stanhope.  He  desired  to  restore 
his  self-esteem,  wounded  by  the  failure  of  the  '  Liberal.'  He  had 
long  before  (28  Feb.  1817)  told  Moore  that  if  he  lived  ten  years 
longer  he  would  yet  do  something,  and  declared  that  he  did  not 
think  literature  his  vocation.  He  still  hoped  to  show  himself  a  man 
of  action  instead  of  a  mere  dreamer  and  dawdler.  The  Greek 
committee  was  formed  in  London  in  the  spring  of  1823,  and  Tre- 
lawny  wrote  to  one  of  the  members,  Blaquiere,  suggesting  Byron's 
name.  Blaquiere  was  soon  visiting  Greece  for  information,  and 
called  upon  Byron  in  his  way.  The  committee  had  unanimously 
elected  him  a  member.  Byron  was  flattered  and  accepted.  His 
old  interest  in  Greece  increased  his  satisfaction  at  a  proposal  which 
fell  in  with  his  mood.  He  at  once  told  the  committee  (12  May) 
that  his  first  wish  was  to  go  to  the  Levant.  Though  the  scheme 
gave  Byron  an  aim  and  excited  his  imagination,  he  still  hesitated, 
and  with  reason.  Weak  health  and  military  inexperience  were  bad 
qualifications  for  the  leader  of  a  revolt.  Captain  Roberts  con- 
veyed messages  and  counter  messages  from  Byron  to  Trelawny 
for  a  time.  At  last  (22  June  -1823)  Trelawny  heard  from  Byron, 
who  had  engaged  a  'collier-built  tub'  of  120  tons,  called  the  Her- 
cules, for  his  expedition  and  summoned  Trelawny's  help.  Byron 
had  taken  leave  of  the  Blessingtons  with  farewell  presents,  fore- 
bodings, and  a  burst  of  tears.  He  took  10,000  crowns  in  specie, 
40,000  in  bills,  and  a  large  supply  of  medicine ;  Trelawny,  young 
Gamba,  Bruno,  an  'unfledged  medical  student,'  and  several 
servants,  including  Fletcher.  He  had  prepared  three  helmets 
with  his  crest,  'Crede  Byron,'  for  Trelawny,  Gamba,  and  himself; 
and  afterwards  begged  from  Trelawny  a  negro  servant  and  a  smart 
military  jacket.  They  sailed  from  Genoa  on  Tuesday,  15  July; 


542 


SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 


a  gale  forced  them  to  return  and  repair  damages.  They  stayed 
two  days  at  Leghorn,  and  were  joined  by  Mr.  Hamilton  Browne. 
Here,  too,  Byron  received  a  copy  of  verses  from  Goethe,  who  had 
inserted  a  complimentary  notice  of  Byron  in  the  'Kunst  und 
Alterthum,'  and  to  whom  Byron  had  dedicated  'Werner.'  By 
Browne's  advice  they  sailed  for  Cephalonia,  where  Sir  C.  J.  Napier 
was  in  command  and  known  to  sympathise  with  the  Greeks. 
Trelawny  says  that  he  was  never  '  on  shipboard  with  a  better  com- 
panion.' Byron's  spirits  revived  at  sea;  he  was  full  of  fun  and 
practical  jokes;  read  Scott,  Swift,  Grimm,  Rochefoucauld; 
chatted  pleasantly,  and  talked  of  describing  Stromboli  in  a  fifth 
canto  of  'Childe  Harold.'  On  2  Aug.  they  sighted  Cephalonia. 
They  found  that  Napier  was  away,  and  that  Blaquiere  had  left 
for  England.  Byron  began  to  fancy  that  he  had  been  used  as  a 
decoy,  and  declared  that  he  must  see  his  way  plainly  before  mov- 
ing. Napier  soon  returned,  and  the  party  was  warmly  received 
by  the  residents.  Information  from  Greece  was  scarce  and  doubt- 
ful. Trelawny  resolved  to  start  with  Browne,  knowing,  he  says, 
that  Byron,  once  on  shore,  would  again  become  dawdling  and 
shilly-shallying.  Byron  settled  at  a  village  called  Metaxata,  near 
Argostoli,  and  remained  there  till  27  Dec. 

Byron's  nerve  was  evidently  shaken.  He  showed  a  strange 
irritability  and  nervousness  (TRELAWNY,  ii.  116).  He  wished  to 
hear  of  some  agreement  among  the  divided  and  factious  Greek 
chiefs  before  trusting  himself  among  them.  The  Cephalonian 
Greeks,  according  to  Trelawny,  favoured  the  election  of  a  foreign 
king,  and  Trelawny  thought  that  Byron  was  really  impressed  by 
the  possibility  of  receiving  a  crown.  Byron  hinted  to  Parry 
afterwards  of  great  offers  which  had  been  made  to  him.  Fancies 
of  this  kind  may  have  passed  through  his  mind.  Yet  his  general 
judgment  of  the  situation  was  remarkable  for  its  strong  sense. 
His  cynical  tendencies  at  least  kept  him  free  from  the  enthusiasts' 
illusions,  and  did  not  damp  his  zeal. 

In  Cephalonia  Byron  had  some  conversations  upon  religious 
topics  with  Dr.  Kennedy,  physician  of  the  garrison.  Kennedy 
reported  them  in  a  book,  in  which  he  unfortunately  thought  more 
of  expounding  his  argument  than  of  reporting  Byron.  Byron  had, 
in  fact,  no  settled  views.  His  heterodoxy  did  not  rest  upon  reason- 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  543 

ing,  but  upon  sentiment.  He  was  curiously  superstitious  through 
life,  and  seems  to  have  preferred  Catholicism  to  other  religions. 
Lady  Byron  told  Crabb  Robinson  (5  March  1855)  that  Byron  had 
been  made  miserable  by  the  gloomy  Calvinism  from  which,  she 
said,  he  had  never  freed  himself.  Some  passages  in  his  letters, 
and  the  early  '  Prayer  to  Nature '  —  an  imitation  of  Pope's  '  Uni- 
versal Prayer '  —  seem  to  imply  a  revolt  from  the  doctrines  to 
which  Lady  Byron  referred.  'Cain,'  his  most  serious  utterance, 
clearly  favours  the  view  that  the  orthodox  theology  gave  a  repulsive 
or  a  nugatory  answer  to  the  great  problems.  But,  in  truth,  Byron's 
scepticism  was  part  of  his  quarrel  with  cant.  He  hated  the  re- 
ligious dogma  as  he  hated  the  political  creed  and  the  social  system 
of  the  respectable  world.  He  disavowed  sympathy  with  Shelley's 
opinions,  and  probably  never  gave  a  thought  to  the  philosophy  in 
which  Shelley  was  interested. 

Trelawny  was  now  with  Odysseus  and  the  chiefs  of  Eastern 
Greece.  Prince  Mavrocordato,  the  most  prominent  of  the  Western 
Greeks,  had  at  last  occupied  Missolonghi.  Byron  sent  Colonel 
Stanhope  (afterwards  Lord  Harrington),  a  representative  of  the 
Greek  committee,  with  a  letter  to  Mavrocordato  and  another  to 
the  general  government  (2  Dec.  and  30  Nov.  1823),  insisting  upon 
the  necessity  of  union ;  and  on  28  Dec.  sailed  himself,  on  the  en- 
treaty of  Mavrocordato  and  Stanhope.  The  voyage  was  hazard- 
ous. Gamba's  ship  was  actually  seized  by  a  Turkish  man-of- 
war,  and  he  owed  his  release  to  the  lucky  accident  that  his  captain 
had  once  saved  the  Turkish  captain's  life.  Byron,  in  a  'mistico,' 
took  shelter  under  some  rocks  called  the  Scrophes.  Thence,  with 
some  gunboats  sent  to  their  aid,  they  reached  Missolonghi,  in 
spite  of  a  gale,  in  which  Byron  showed  great  coolness.  Byron  was 
heartily  welcomed.  Mavrocordato  was  elected  governor-general. 
Attempts  were  made  to  organise  troops.  Byron  took  into  his  pay 
a  body  of  five  hundred  disorderly  Suliotes.  He  met  thickening 
difficulties  with  unexpected  temper,  firmness,  and  judgment. 
Demands  for  money  came  from  all  sides ;  Byron  told  Parry  that  he 
had  been  asked  for  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  a  day.  He  raised 
sums  on  his  own  credit,  and  urged  the  Greek  committee  to  provide 
a  loan.  His  indignation  when  Gamba  spent  too  much  upon  some 
red  cloth  was  a  comic  exhibition  of  his  usual  economy  —  hardly 


544  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

unreasonable  under  the  circumstances.  His  first  object  was  an 
expedition  against  Lepanto,  held,  it  was  said,  by  a  weak  garrison 
ready  to  come  over.  At  the  end  of  January  he  was  named  com- 
mander-in-chief.  His  wild  troops  were  utterly  unprovided  with 
the  stores  required  for  an  assault.  The  Greek  committee  had  sent 
two  mountain  guns,  with  ammunition,  and  some  English  artisans 
under  William  Parry,  a  'rough  burly  fellow'  (TRELAWNY,  ii.  149), 
who  had  been  a  clerk  at  Woolwich.  Parry  after  a  long  voyage 
reached  Missolonghi  on  5  Feb.  1824.  In  the  book  to  which  he  gave 
his  name,  and  for  which  he  supplied  materials,  he  professes  to  have 
received  Byron's  confidence.  Byron  called  him  'old  boy,'  laughed 
at  his  sea  slang,  his  ridiculous  accounts  of  Bentham  (one  of  the 
Greek  committee),  and  played  practical  jokes  upon  him.  Parry 
landed  his  stores,  set  his  artisans  to  work,  and  gave  himself  military 
airs.  The  Suliotes  became  mutinous.  They  demanded  com- 
missions, says  Gamba,  for  150  out  of  three  or  four  hundred  men. 
Byron,  disgusted,  threatened  to  discharge  them  all,  and  next  day, 
15  Feb.,  they  submitted.  The  same  day  Byron  was  seized  with 
an  alarming  fit  —  the  doctors  disputed  whether  epileptic  or  apo- 
plectic ;  but  in  any  case  so  severe  that  Byron  said  he  should  have 
died  in  another  minute.  Half  an  hour  later  a  false  report  was 
brought  that  the  Suliotes  were  rising  to  seize  the  magazine.  Next 
day,  while  Byron  was  still  suffering  from  the  disease  and  the  leeches 
applied  by  the  doctors,  who  could  hardly  stop  the  bleeding,  a 
tumultuous  mob  of  Suliotes  broke  into  his  room.  Stanhope  says 
that  the  courage  with  which  he  awed  the  mutineers  was  'truly 
sublime.'  On  the  iyth  a  Turkish  brig  came  ashore,  and  was 
burned  by  the  Turks  after  Byron  had  prepared  an  attack.  On 
the  i  gth  a  quarrel  arose  between  the  Suliotes  and  the  guards  of 
the  arsenal,  and  a  Swedish  officer,  Sasse,  was  killed.  The  English 
artificers,  alarmed  at  discovering  that  shooting  was,  as  Byron  says, 
a  'part  of  housekeeping'  in  these  parts,  insisted  on  leaving  for 
peaceable  regions.  The  Suliotes  became  intolerable,  and  were 
induced  to  leave  the  town  on  receiving  a  month's  wages  from 
Byron,  and  part  of  their  arrears  from  government.  All  hopes  of 
an  expedition  to  Lepanto  vanished. 

Parry  had  brought  a  printing-press,  though  he  had  not  brought 
some  greatly  desired  rockets.     Stanhope,  an  ardent  disciple  of 


THE  LIFE  OF   LORD   BYRON  545 

Bentham's,  started  a  newspaper,  and  talked  of  Lancasterian  schools, 
and  other  civilising  apparatus,  including  a  converted  blacksmith 
with  a  cargo  of  tracts.  Byron  had  many  discussions  with  him. 
Stanhope  produced  Bentham's  'Springs  of  Action'  as  a  new  pub- 
lication, when  Byron  'stamped  with  his  lame  foot,'  and  said  that 
he  did  not  require  lessons  upon  that  subject.  Though  Trelawny 
says  that  Stanhope's  free  press  was  of  eminent  service,  Byron 
may  be  pardoned  for  thinking  that  the  Greeks  should  be  freed 
from  the  Turks  first,  and  converted  to  Benthamism  afterwards. 
He  was  annoyed  by  articles  in  the  paper,  which  advocated  revo- 
lutionary principles  and  a  rising  in  Hungary,  thinking  that  an 
alienation  of  the  European  powers  would  destroy  the  best  chance 
of  the  Greeks  (To  Barff,  10  March  1824).  He  hoped,  he  said, 
that  the  writers'  brigade  would  be  ready  before  the  soldiers'  press. 
The  discussions,  however,  were  mutually  respectful,  and  Byron 
ended  a  talk  by  saying  to  Stanhope,  'Give  me  that  honest  right 
hand,'  and  begging  to  be  judged  by  his  actions,  not  by  his  words. 
Other  plans  were  now  discussed.  Stanhope  left  for  Athens  at 
the  end  of  February.  Odysseus,  with  whom  was  Trelawny,  pro- 
posed a  conference  with  Mavrocordato  and  Byron  at  Salona. 
Byron  wrote  agreeing  to  this  proposal  19  March.  He  had  de- 
clined to  answer  an  offer  of  the  general  government  to  appoint 
him  '  governor-general  of  Greece '  until  the  meeting  should  be  over. 
The  prospects  of  the  loan  were  now  favourable.  Byron  was 
trying,  with  Parry's  help,  to  fortify  Missolonghi  and  get  together 
some  kind  of  force.  His  friends  were  beginning  to  be  anxious 
about  the  effects  of  the  place  on  his  health.  Barff  offered  him  a 
country-house  in  Cephalonia.  Byron  replied  that  he  felt  bound 
to  stay  while  he  could.  '  There  is  a  stake  worth  millions  such  as  I 
am.'  Missolonghi,  with  its  swamps,  meanwhile,  was  a  mere  fever- 
trap.  The  mud,  says  Gamba,  was  so  deep  in  the  gateway  that 
an  unopposed  enemy  would  have  found  entrance  difficult.  Byron's 
departure  was  hindered  by  excessive  rains.  He  starved  himself 
as  usual.  Moore  says  that  he  measured  himself  round  the  wrist 
and  waist  almost  daily,  and  took  a  strong  dose  if  he  thought  his 
size  increasing.  He  rode  out  when  he  could  with  his  body-guard 
of  fifty  or  sixty  Suliotes,  but  complained  of  frequent  weakness  and 
dizziness.  Parry  in  vain  commended  his  panacea,  brandy.  Tre- 

2N 


546  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

lawny  had  started  in  April  with  a  letter  from  Stanhope,  entreating 
him  to  leave  Missolonghi  and  not  sacrifice  his  health,  and  perhaps 
his  life,  in  that  bog. 

Byron  produced  his  last  poem  on  the  morning  of  his  birthday,  in 
which  the  hero  is  struggling  to  cast  off  the  dandy  with  partial  suc- 
cess. He  had  tried  to  set  an  example  of  generous  treatment  of 
an  enemy  by  freeing  some  Turkish  prisoners  at  Missolonghi.  A 
lively  little  girl  called  Hato  or  Hatagee,  who  was  amongst  them, 
wished  to  stay  with  him,  and  he  resolved  to  adopt  her.  A  letter 
from  Mrs.  Leigh,  found  by  Trelawny  among  his  papers,  contained 
a  transcript  from  a  letter  of  Lady  Byron's  to  her  with  an  account 
of  Ada's  health.  An  unfinished  reply  from  Byron  (23  Feb.  1824) 
asked  whether  Lady  Byron  would  permit  Hatagee  to  become 
a  companion  to  Ada.  Lady  Byron,  he  adds,  should  be  warned 
of  Ada's  resemblance  to  himself  in  his  infancy,  and  he  suggests 
that  the  epilepsy  may  be  hereditary.  He  afterwards  decided  to 
send  Hatagee  for  the  time  to  Dr.  Kennedy.  On  9  April  he  re- 
ceived news  of  Mrs.  Leigh's  recovery  from  an  illness  and  good 
accounts  of  Ada.  On  the  same  day  he  rode  out  with  Gamba,  was 
caught  in  the  rain,  insisted  upon  returning  in  an  open  boat,  and  was 
seized  with  a  shivering  fit.  His  predisposition  to  malaria,  aided 
by  his  strange  system  of  diet,  had  produced  the  result  anticipated 
by  Stanhope.  He  rode  out  next  day,  but  the  fever  continued. 
The  doctors  had  no  idea  beyond  bleeding,  to  which  he  submitted 
with  great  reluctance,  and  Parry  could  only  suggest  brandy.  The 
attendants  were  ignorant  of  each  other's  language,  and  seem  to  have 
lost  their  heads.  On  the  i8th  he  was  delirious.  At  intervals  he 
was  conscious  and  tried  to  say  something  to  Fletcher  about  his 
sister,  his  wife,  and  daughter.  A  strong  ' antispasmodic  potion' 
was  given  to  him  in  the  evening.  About  six  he  said,  '  Now  I  shall 
go  to  sleep,'  and  fell  into  a  slumber  which,  after  twenty-four  hours, 
ended  in  death  on  the  evening  of  19  April.  Trelawny  arrived  on 
the  24th  or  25th,  having  heard  of  the  death  on  his  journey.  He 
entered  the  room  where  the  corpse  was  lying,  and,  sending  Fletcher 
for  a  glass  of  water,  uncovered  the  feet.  On  Fletcher's  return  he 
wrote  upon  paper,  spread  on  the  coffin,  the  servant's  account  of 
his  master's  last  illness. 

Byron's  body  was  sent  home  to  England,  and  after  lying  in 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  547 

state  for  two  days  was  buried  at  Hucknall  Torkard  (see  Edin- 
burgh Review  for  April  1871  for  Hobhouse's  account  of  the  funeral). 
The  funeral  procession  was  accidentally  met  by  Lady  Caroline 
Lamb  and  her  husband.  She  fainted  on  being  made  aware  that 
it  was  Byron's.  Her  mind  became  more  affected ;  she  was  separated 
from  her  husband;  and  died  26  Jan.  1828,  generously  cared  for 
by  him  to  the  last.  (For  Lady  Caroline  Lamb  see  LADY  MORGAN, 
Memoirs,  i.  200-14;  Annual  Obituary  for  1828;  Mr.  TOWNSHEND 
MAYER  in  Temple  Bar  for  June  1868;  LORD  LYTTON,  Memoirs, 
vol.  i. ;  PAUL,  Life  of  Godwin,  vol.  ii.) 

Lady  Byron  afterwards  led  a  retired  life.  Her  daughter  Ada 
was  married  to  the  Earl  of  Lovelace  8  July  1835,  and  died  29  Nov. 
1852.  She  is  said  to  have  been  a  good  mathematician.  A  por- 
trait of  her  is  in  Bentley's  'Miscellany'  for  1853.  Lady  Byron 
settled  ultimately  at  Brighton,  where  she  became  a  warm  admirer 
and  friend  of  F.  W.  Robertson.  She  took  an  interest  in  the  reli- 
gious questions  of  the  day,  and  spent  a  large  part  of  her  income  in 
charity.  Miss  Martineau  (Biographical  Sketches,  1868)  speaks 
of  her  with  warm  respect,  and  some  of  her  letters  will  be  found  in 
Crabb  Robinson's  diary.  Others  (see  HOWITT'S  letter  in  Daily 
News,  4  Sept.  1869)  thought  her  pedantic  and  over  strict.  She 
died  1 6  May  1860.  Mme.  Guiccioli  returned  to  her  husband;  she 
married  the  Marquis  de  Boissy  in  1851  and  died  at  Florence  in 
March  1873. 

The  following  appears  to  be  a  full  list  of  original  portraits  of 
Byron  (for  fuller  details  see  article  by  Mr.  R.  EDGCUMBE  and  Mr. 
A.  GRAVES  in  Notes  and  Queries,  6th  series,  vi.  422,  472,  vii.  269). 
Names  of  proprietors  added:  i.  Miniature  by  Kaye  at  the  age  of 
seven.  2.  Full-length  in  oils  by  Sanders;  engraved  in  standard 
edition  of  Moore's  life  (Lady  Dorchester).  3.  Miniature  by  same 
from  the  preceding  (engraving  destroyed  at  Byron's  request). 
4.  Half-length  by  Westall,  1814  (Lady  Burdett-Coutts).  5.  Half- 
length  by  T.  Phillips,  1814  (Mr.  Murray);  engraved  by  Agar, 
R.  Graves,  Lupton,  Mote,  Warren,  Edwards,  and  C.  Armstrong. 
6.  Miniature  by  Holmes,  1815  (Mr.  A.  Morrison);  engraved 
by  R.  Graves,  Ryall,  and  H.  Meyer.  7.  Bust  in  marble  by 
Thorwaldsen,  1816  (Lady  Dorchester);  replicas  at  Milan  and 
elsewhere.  8.  Half-length  by  Harlowe,  1817;  engraved  by 


548  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

H.  Meyer,  Holl,  and  Scriven.  9.  Miniature  by  Prepiani,  1817,  and 
another  by  the  same;  given  to  Mrs.  Leigh.  10.  Miniature  in 
water-colours  of  Byron  in  college  robes  by  Gilchrist  about  1807-8; 
at  Newstead.  n.  Half-length  in  Albanian  dress  by  T.  Phillips, 
R.  A.  (Lord  Lovelace);  replica  in  National  Portrait  Gallery; 
engraved  by  Finden.  12.  Pencil  Sketch  by  G.  Cattermole  from 
memory  (Mr.  Toone).  13.  Medallion  by  A.  Stothard.  14.  Bust 
by  Bartolini,  1822  (Lord  Malmesbury) ;  lithographed  by  Fro- 
mentin.  15.  Half-length  by  West  (Mr.  Horace  Kent);  engraved 
by  C.  Turner,  Engleheart,  and  Robinson.  16.  Three  sketches 
by  Count  d'Orsay,  1823;  one  at  South  Kensington.  17.  Statue 
by  Thorwaldsen,  finished  1834.  This  statue  was  ordered  from 
Thorwaldsen  in  1829  by  Hobhouse  in  the  name  of  a  committee. 
Thorwaldsen  produced  it  for  i,ooo/.  It  was  refused  by  Dean 
Ireland  for  Westminster  Abbey,  and  lay  in  the  custom-house  vaults 
till  1842,  when  it  was  again  refused  by  Dean  Tinton.  In  1843 
Whewell,  having  just  become  master  of  Trinity,  accepted  it  for  the 
college,  and  it  was  placed  in  the  library  (Correspondence  in  Notes 
and  Queries,  6th  ser.  iv.  421).  18.  A  silhouette  cut  in  paper  by 
Mrs.  Leigh  Hunt  is  prefixed  to  'Byron  and  some  of  his  Contem- 
poraries/ 

Byron's  works  appeared  as  follows:  i.  'Hours  of  Idleness' 
(see  above  for  a  notice  of  first  editions).  2.  'English  Bards  and 
Scotch  Reviewers'  (Cawthorne)  (for  full  details  of  editions  see 
Notes  and  Queries,  5th  ser.  vii.  145,  204,  296,  355).  3.  'Imitations 
and  Translations,  together  with  original  poems  never  before  pub- 
lished, collected  by  J.  C.  Hobhouse,  Trinity  College,  Cambridge' 
(1809)  (contains  nine  poems  by  Byron,  reprinted  in  works,  among 
'occasional  pieces,'  1807-8  and  1808-10).  4.  'Childe  Harold,  a 
Romaunt,'  4to,  1812  (an  appendix  of  twenty  poems,  including  those 
during  his  travels  and  those  addressed  to  Thyrza).  5.  'The  Curse 
of  Minerva'  (anonymous;  privately  printed  in  a  thin  quarto  in 
1812  (Lowndes) ;  at  Philadelphia  in  1815,  8vo;  Paris  (Galignani), 
1 2 mo,  1818;  and  imperfect  copies  in  Hone's  'Domestic  Poems' 
and  in  later  collections).  6.  'The  Waltz'  (anonymous),  1813 
(again  in  Works,  1824).  7.  'The  Giaour,  a  Fragment  of  a  Turk- 
ish Tale,'  1813,  8vo.  8.  'The  Bride  of  Abydos,  a  Turkish 
Tale,'  1813,  8vo.  9.  'The  Corsair,  a  Tale,'  1814,  8vo  (to  this 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  549 

were  added  the  lines,  'Weep,  daughter  of  a  royal  line,'  omitted 
in  some  copies;  see  Letters  of  22  Jan.  and  10  Feb.  1814).  10. 
'Ode  to  Napoleon  Buonaparte'  (anonymous),  8vo,  1814.  n. 
'Lara,  a  Tale,'  1814,  8vo  (originally  published  with  Rogers's 
'Jacqueline').  12.  'Hebrew  Melodies,'  1815  (lines  on  Sir  Peter 
Parker  appended);  also  with  music  by  Braham  and  Nathan  in 
folio.  13.  'Siege  of  Corinth,'  1816,  8vo.  14.  'Parisina,'  1816, 
8vo  (this  and  the  last  together  in  second  edition,  1816).  15. 
'Poems  by  Lord  Byron'  (Murray),  1816,  8vo  ('When  all  around,' 
'Bright  be  the  place  of  thy  soul,'  'When  we  two  parted,'  'There's 
not  a  joy,'  'There  be  none  of  beauty's  daughters,'  'Fare  thee  well;' 
poems  from  the  French  and  lines  to  Rogers).  The  original  of 
'Bright  be  the  place  of  thy  soul,'  by  Lady  Byron,  corrected  by  Lord 
Byron,  is  in  the  Morrison  MSS.  16.  'Poems  on  his  Domestic 
Circumstances  by  Lord  Byron,'  Hone,  1816  (includes  a  'Sketch,' 
and  in  later  editions  a  '  Farewell  to  Malta '  and  '  Curse  of  Minerva ' 
(mutilated);  a  twenty-third  edition  in  1817.  It  also  includes 
'O  Shame  to  thee,  Land  of  the  Gaul,'  and  '  Mme.  Lavalette,' 
which,  with  an  'Ode  to  St.  Helena,'  'Farewell  to  England,'  'On 
his  Daughter's  Birthday,'  and  'The  Lily  of  France,'  are  disowned 
by  Byron  in  letter  to  Murray  22  July  1816,  but  are  reprinted  in 
some  later  unauthorised  editions.  17.  'Prisoner  of  Chillon,  and 
other  Poems,'  1816,  8vo  (sonnet  to  Lake  Leman,  'Though  the  day 
of  my  destiny's  over,'  'Darkness,'  ' Churchhill's  Grave,'  the 
'Dream,'  the  'Incantation  '  (from  Manfred),  'Prometheus'). 
18.  'Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,'  canto  iii.,  1816,  8vo.  19. 
'Monody  on  the  Death  of  Sheridan'  (anonymous),  1816,  8vo. 
20.  'Manfred,  a  Dramatic  Poem,'  1817,  8vo.  21.  'The  Lament  of 
Tasso,'  8vo,  1817.  22.  '  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,'  canto  iv., 
1818  (the  Alhama  ballad  and  sonnet  from  Vittorelli  appended). 
23.  'Beppo,  a  Venetian  Story'  (anonymous  in  early  editions),  1818, 
8vo.  24.  'Suppressed  Poems'  (Galignani),  1818,  8vo  ('English 
Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,'  'Land  of  the  Gaul,'  'Windsor 
Poetics,  a  Sketch').  25.  Three  Poems  not  included  in  the  works 
of  Lord  Byron  (Effingham  Wilson),  1818,  8vo  ('Lines  to  Lady 
J[ersey];'  'Enigma  on  H.,'  often  erroneously  attributed  to  Byron, 
really  by  Miss  Fanshawe;  'Curse  of  Minerva,'  fragmentary). 
26.  'Mazeppa,'  1819  (fragment  of  the  'Vampire'  novel  appended). 


550  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

27.  'Marino  Faliero,'  1820.  28.  'The  Prophecy  of  Dante,'  1821 
(with  'Marino  Faliero'),  8vo.  29.  ' Sardanapalus,  a  Tragedy;' 
'  The  Two  Foscari,  a  Tragedy ; '  '  Cain,  a  Mystery '  (in  one  volume, 
8vo),  1821.  30.  'Letter  ...  on  the  Rev.  W.  L.  Bowles's  Stric- 
tures on  Pope,'  1821.  31.  'Werner,  a  Tragedy'  (J.  Hunt),  1822, 
8vo.  32.  'The  Liberal'  (J.  Hunt),  1823,  8vo  (No.  I.  'Vision  of 
Judgment,'  'Letter  to  the  Editor  of  my  Grandmother's  Review/ 
'Epigrams  on  Castlereagh.'  No.  II.  'Heaven  and  Earth.'  No. 
III.  'The  Blues.'  No.  IV.  'Morgante  Maggiore').  33.  'The 
Age  of  Bronze'  (anonymous)  (J.  Hunt),  1823,  8vo.  34.  'The 
Island'  (J.  Hunt),  1823,  8vo.  35.  'The  Deformed  Transformed' 
(J.  &  H.  L.  Hunt),  1824,  8vo.  36.  'Don  Juan'  (cantos  i.  and 
ii.  'printed  by  Thomas  Davison,'  4to,  1819;  cantos  iii.,  iv.,  and  v. 
(Davison),  8vo,  1821;  cantos  vi.,  vii.,  and  viii.  (for  Hunt  & 
Clarke),  8vo,  1823;  cantos  ix.,  x.,  and  xi.  (for  John  Hunt),  8vo, 
1823;  cantos  xii.,  xiii.,  and  xiv.  (John  Hunt),  8vo,  1823;  cantos 
xv.  and  xvi.  (John  &  H.  L.  Hunt),  8vo,  1824),  all  anonymous. 
A  iyth  canto  (1829)  is  not  by  Byron;  and  'twenty  suppressed 
stanzas'  (1838)  are  also  spurious. 

Murray  published  from  i8i5toi8i7a  collective  edition  of  works 
up  to  those  dates  in  eight  volumes  i2mo;  other  collective  editions 
in  five  volumes  16  mo,  1817 ;  and  an  edition  in  eight  volumes  16  mo, 
1818-20.  In  1824  was  published  an  8vo  volume  by  Knight  & 
Lacy,  called  vol.  v.  of  Lord  Byron's  works,  including  'Hours  of 
Idleness,'  'English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,'  the  'Waltz,'  and 
various  minor  poems,  several  of  the  spurious  poems  mentioned 
under  Hone's  domestic  pieces,  and  'To  Jessy,'  a  copy  of  which  is 
in  Egerton  MS.  2332,  assent  to  'Literary  Recreations.'  In  1824 
and  1825  the  Hunts  also  published  two  volumes  uniform  with 
the  above  and  called  vols.  vi.  and  vii.  of  Lord  Byron's  works, 
including  the  poems  (except  'Don  Juan')  published  by  them 
separately  as  above,  and  in  'The  Liberal.'  In  1828  Murray 
published  an  edition  of  the  works  in  four  volumes  12  mo.  Uni- 
form with  this  were  published  two  volumes  by  J.  F.  Dove,  in- 
cluding 'Don  Juan'  (the  whole)  and  the  various  pieces  in  Knight 
&  Lacy's  volume,  with  'Lines  to  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,'  'On my 
Thirty-sixth  Birthday,'  and  the  lines  'And  wilt  thou  weep?' 

There  are  various  French  collections:  in  1825  Baudry  &  Amyot 


THE  LIFE  OF  LORD   BYRON  551 

published  an  8vo  edition  in  seven  volumes  at  Paris,  with  a  life  by 
J.  W.  Lake,  including  all  the  recognised  poems,  the  letter  to  Bowles, 
and  the  parliamentary  speeches  (separately  printed  in  London  in 
1824).  Galignani  published  one- volume  8vo  editions  in  1828 
(with  life  by  Lake),  in  1831  (same  life  abridged),  and  1835  (with 
life  by  Henry  Lytton  Bulwer,  M.P.).  To  the  edition  of  1828  were 
appended  twenty-one  'attributed  poems,'  including  'Remember 
thee,  remember  thee,'  the  'Triumph  of  the  Whale'  (by  Charles 
Lamb,  CRABB  ROBINSON,  Diary  (1872),  i.  175),  and  'Remind  me 
not,  remind  me  not.'  Most  of  these  were  omitted  in  the  edition 
of  1831,  which  included  (now  first  printed)  the  'Hints  from 
Horace,'  of  which  fragments  are  given  in  Moore's  'Life'  (1830). 
The  collected  'Life  and  Works'  published  by  Murray  (1832- 
5),  8vo,  includes  all  the  recognised  poems,  and  adds  to  the  fore- 
going works  a  few  'published  for  the  first  time'  (including  the  second 
letter  to  Bowles,  and  the  'Observations  on  Observations'),  and 
several  poems  which  had  appeared  in  other  works:  'River  that 
rollest,' &c.,  from  Medwin  (1824);  'Verses  on  his  Thirty-sixth 
Birthday,'  from  Gamba  (1824) ;  'And  thou  wert  sad'  and  'Could 
love  for  ever,'  from  Lady  Blessington;  'I  speak  not,  I  wail  not;' 
'In  the  valley  of  waters;'  'They  say  that  hope  is  happiness,' 
from  Nathan's  'Fugitive  Pieces,'  &c.  (1829);  'To  my  son,' 
'Epistle  to  a  friend,'  'My  sister,  my  sweet  sister,'  'Could  I  lament,' 
the  'Devil's  Drive,'  and  many  trifles  from  Moore's  'Life'  (1830). 
This  edition,  which  has  been  reprinted  in  the  same  form  and  in  one 
volume  royal  8vo,  is  the  most  convenient. 


THE    LIFE    OF    PERCY    BYSSHE    SHELLEY 

RICHARD   GARNETT 

[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

SHELLEY,  PERCY  BYSSHE  (1792-1822),  poet,  was  born  at  Field 
Place,  Warnham,  near  Horsham,  on  4  Aug.  1792,  and  was  the 
eldest  son  of  Timothy,  afterwards  Sir  Timothy  Shelley,  bart,  and 
of  his  wife  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Charles  Pilfold.  The  family, 
an  offshoot  of  the  Shelleys  of  Michelgrove,  had  been  transplanted 


552  RICHARD   GARNETT 

for  a  time  to  America,  in  the  person  of  Percy's  great-grandfather 
Timothy,  whose  son  Bysshe,  returning  at  an  early  age,  made  the 
fortune  of  his  house  by  two  successive  runaway  matches,  the  first 
with  Mary  Catherine,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Theobald  Michell  of 
Horsham.  Percy's  father  (b.  1753)  was  the  offspring  of  this 
marriage.  Bysshe  Shelley,  who  is  described  as  handsome,  enter- 
prising, and  not  over-scrupulous,  dignified  in  appearance  and 
manners,  but  addicted  to  inferior  company,  survived  his  grand- 
son's birth  by  twenty-two  years.  He  was  a  warm  supporter  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk's  interest  in  the  county,  and,  upon  the  brief 
return  of  the  whigs  to  office  in  1816,  was  rewarded  with  a  baronetcy, 
'the  whim,'  according  to  a  local  rhymer,  'of  his  son  Tim.' 
Timothy  Shelley's  character  is  fairly  given  by  Professor  Dowden : 
'He  had  a  better  heart  than  his  father,  and  not  so  clear  a  head. 
A  kindly,  pompous,  capricious,  well-meaning,  ill-doing,  wrong- 
headed  man.'  His  letters  evince  singular  confusion,  both  of 
thought  and  expression.  The  accounts  of  Shelley's  mother  are 
somewhat  contradictory,  except  as  regards  the  beauty  which  all 
her  children  derived  from  her,  and  the  facility  of  composition  which 
became  the  special  inheritance  of  Percy.  It  is  important  to  re- 
mark that  the  family  was  not,  as  sometimes  assumed,  tory,  but 
pronouncedly  whig,  and  that  Shelley  would  grow  up  with  an  addic- 
tion to  liberty  in  the  abstract  and  with  no  special  aversion  to  the 
revolution. 

Shelley  received  his  first  instruction  from  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Edwards  of  Horsham.  At  ten  he  was  transferred  to  Sion  House 
academy,  Brentford,  kept  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Greenlaw,  a  bad  middle- 
class  school,  which  nevertheless  profoundly  influenced  him  in 
two  ways.  The  persecutions  which  the  shy,  sensitive  boy  under- 
went from  his  schoolfellows  inspired  him  with  the  horror  of  op- 
pression and  indomitable  spirit  of  resistance  which  actuated  his 
whole  life;  and  the  scientific  instruction  he  received,  though  little 
more  than  a  pretence  in  itself,  awoke  a  passionate  desire  to  pene- 
trate the  secrets  of  nature.  It  may  almost  be  said  that  science 
was  to  Shelley  what  abstract  thought  was  to  Coleridge,  and  that 
the  main  peculiarity  of  the  genius  of  each  resulted  from  the  thirst 
for  discovery  becoming  engrafted  upon  a  temperament  originally 
most  unscientifically  prone  to  the  romantic  and  marvellous. 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY   BYSSHE  SHELLEY  553 

Eton,  whither  Shelley  went  at  the  age  of  twelve,  repeated  the  ex- 
perience of  Sion  House  on  a  larger  scale.  Here,  again,  his  torment 
was  the  persecution  of  his  schoolfellows,  and  his  consolation 
scientific  research  conducted  agreeably  to  his  own  notions.  He 
destroyed  an  old  willow  with  a  burning-glass,  and,  endeavouring 
to  raise  the  devil,  succeeded  so  far  as  to  raise  a  tutor.  Many  other 
tales  of  his  residence  at  Eton  are  probably  legendary,  but  there  is 
no  doubt  of  the  influence  exerted  upon  him  by  the  benevolent 
physician  James  Lind  (1736-1817)  [q.v.],  whom  he  has  celebrated 
as  the  hermit  in  'The  Revolt  of  Islam.'  He  wras  nicknamed 
'Mad  Shelley,'  or  'Shelley  the  Atheist,'  and  he  was  known 
among  his  schoolfellows  for  a  habit  of  '  cursing  his  father  and  the 
king.'  He  was  no  inapt  scholar,  and  his  progress  in  the  classics 
eventually  made  him  acquainted  with  Pliny's  'Natural  History/ 
the  first  two  books  of  which  exercised  a  strong  influence  upon  his 
theological  opinions.  His  literary  instincts  also  awoke ;  and  while 
at  Eton  (at  the  age  of  sixteen)  he  not  only  wrote  but  published  his 
romance  of  'Zastrozzi,'  a  boy's  crude  imitation  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's 
style.  Somewhat  later  he  composed  another  romance  in  the  same 
manner,  'St.  Irvyne,  or  the  Rosicrucian,'  which  was  also  published 
(in  1810);  joined  his  cousin,  Thomas  Medwin  [q.v.],  in  writing 
a  poem  on  the  'Wandering  Jew,'  which  found  no  publisher  at 
the  time,  but  eventually  appeared  in  'Eraser's  Magazine;'  and 
in  conjunction,  as  is  probable,  either  with  his  sister  Elizabeth  or 
with  his  cousin,  Harriet  Grove  —  to  whom  he  was,  or  thought 
himself,  attached  —  published  in  1810  'Original  Poetry  by  Victor 
and  Cazire,'  which  he  withdrew  on  discovering  that  his  coadjutor 
had  cribbed  wholesale  from  Matthew  Gregory  Lewis.  A  hundred 
copies  are  said  to  have  been  puHnto  circulation,  but  not  one  has 
ever  come  to  light.  Another  early  poem,  'A  Poetical  View  of 
the  Existing  State  of  Things,'  published  anonymously  while  he 
was  at  Oxford,  has  also  disappeared. 

Shelley  matriculated  at  University  College,  Oxford,  on  10  April 
1810,  and  commenced  residence  at  the  Michaelmas  term  follow- 
ing. Oxford  might  have  been  a  happy  residence  for  him  had  he 
not  brought  along  with  him  not  only  the  passion  for  research  into 
whatever  the  university  did  not  desire  him  to  learn,  and  the  panthe- 
ism, miscalled  by  himself  and  others  atheism,  which  he  had  imbibed 


554  RICHARD   GARNETT 

from  Pliny,  but  also  a  spirit  of  aggressive  propaganda.  Of  this  he 
afterwards  cured  himself,  but  at  the  time  it  was  certain  to  involve 
him  in  collision  with  authorities  whom  he  had  indeed  no  great 
reason  to  respect,  but  of  whose  real  responsibility  for  his  behaviour 
he  took  no  proper  account.  This  trait  was  no  doubt  encouraged 
by  the  intimacy  he  contracted  with  Thomas  Jefferson  Hogg  [q.v.], 
a  man  of  highly  original  character  entirely  dissimilar  to  his  own, 
whose  sketch  of  him  during  the  Oxford  period  is  the  most  vivid, 
and  probably  the  most  accurate,  portrait  of  the  youthful  Shelley 
(cf.  C.  K.  SHARPE,  Letters,  i.  37,  444).  Hogg's  sarcastic  humour 
encouraged,  if  it  did  not  prompt,  Shelley  to  such  dangerous  freaks 
as  composing  and  circulating,  in  conjunction  with  his  friend,  a 
pamphlet  of  burlesque  verses  gravely  attributed  to  Margaret 
Nicholson  [q.v.],  a  mad  woman  who  had  attempted  to  kill  the  king 
(Posthumous  Fragments  of  Margaret  Nicholson,  Oxford,  1810); 
and  afterwards  submitting  a  printed  syllabus  of  arguments,  sup- 
posed to  demonstrate  'The  Necessity  of  Atheism,'  to  the  bishops 
and  heads  of  colleges.  The  authorities  summoned  Shelley  before 
them  on  the  morning  of  25  March  1811,  and,  upon  his  refusal  to 
answer  interrogatories,  delivered  to  him  a  sentence  of  expulsion, 
which  had  been  signed  and  sealed  in  anticipation.  Hogg's 
generous  protest  brought  a  similar  sentence  upon  himself. 

Shelley's  expulsion  was  rather  favourable  than  otherwise  to  the 
development  of  his  genius,  but  involved  him  in  the  greatest  mis- 
fortune of  his  life,  his  imprudent  marriage.  Excluded  from  home, 
he  took  rooms  in  London,  at  15  Poland  Street,  and  frequented  the 
hospitals,  with  the  idea  of  ultimately  becoming  a  physician. 
While  in  town  he  renewed  the  slight  acquaintance  he  had  already 
formed  with  Harriet  Westbrook,  the  daughter  of  an  hotel-keeper 
retired  from  business,  and  a  feJlow  pupil  of  Shelley's  sisters  at 
a  school  in  Clapham.  A  schoolgirl  verging  on  sixteen,  she  thought 
herself  persecuted ;  Shelley  sympathised,  and  interfered  sufficiently 
to  give  her  some  apparent  claim  upon  him ;  and  when  in  July  he 
retired  to  his  cousin's  country  house  at  Cwm  Elan  in  Radnorshire, 
letter  after  letter  came  from  Harriet  complaining  of  the  oppres- 
sions she  underwent,  and  threatening  to  commit  suicide.  Shelley 
hastened  back  to  town,  saw  her,  commiserated  her  appearance, 
and  under  the  influence  of  compassion  and  embittered  feeling  at 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY  555 

his  own  renunciation  by  Harriet  Grove,  who  had  rejected  him 
before  his  expulsion  from  Oxford,  committed  the  weakest  action 
of  his  life  in  engaging  to  marry  her.  They  fled  northward,  and 
were  wedded  in  Edinburgh  on  28  Aug.  1811.  It  seems  unlikely 
that  Harriet's  father  should  have  had  any  violent  objection  to  his 
daughter  marrying  the  eventual  heir  to  a  baronetcy;  and  it  is 
no  unreasonable  conjecture  that  the  transaction  was,  in  fact,  ar- 
ranged by  Harriet's  family.  If  so,  however,  Harriet  was  certainly 
an  innocent  tool.  Pleasing  in  appearance,  fairly  well  educated, 
good-mannered  and  good-humoured  as  she  was,  an  ordinary  man 
might  have  promised  himself  much  happiness  with  her;  and  indeed, 
until  the  affection  which  she  originally  felt  for  Shelley  had  become 
indifference,  the  marriage  might  have  passed  for  fortunate.  His 
own  feelings  when  it  was  contracted,  and  for  some  time  afterwards, 
are  portrayed  in  his  letters  to  Miss  Kitchener,  a  Sussex  school- 
mistress, then  the  object  of  his  ardent  intellectual  admiration. 

Shelley's  varied  adventures  for  the  next  three  years  are  unim- 
portant in  comparison  with  the  phenomenon  in  the  background, 
the  silent  growth  of  his  mind.  In  the  winter  of  1811-1812  he 
lived  chiefly  at  Keswick,  where  he  met  with  the  kindest  reception 
from  Southey,  where  he  opened  his  momentous  correspondence 
with  Godwin,  whose  'Political  Justice'  had  deeply  impressed 
him,  and  whence,  in  February,  he  departed  on  the  most  quixotic 
of  his  undertakings,  an  expedition  to  redress  the  wrongs  of  Ireland. 
He  spoke  at  meetings,  wrote  'An  Address  to  the  Irish  People' 
(1812)  and  'Proposals  for  an  Association  for  the  Regeneration 
of  Ireland,'  and  in  April  departed  for  Wales,  leaving  things  as 
he  had  found  them.  About  this  time  he  adopted  the  vegetarian 
system  of  diet,  to  which  he  adhered  with  more  or  less  constancy 
when  in  England,  but  seems  to  have  generally  discarded  when 
abroad.  He  spent  the  early  summer  at  his  old  haunt  of  Cwm 
Elan,  and  by  the  end  of  June  was  settled  at  Lynmouth  in  North 
Devon,  where  he  wrote  his  powerful  remonstrance  with  Lord 
Ellenborough  on  the  condemnation  of  Daniel  Isaac  Eaton  for 
publishing  the  third  part  of  Paine's  'Age  of  Reason'  (Barnstaple, 
1812,  8vo).  He  excited  the  attention  of  government  by  sending 
a  revolutionary  'Declaration  of  Rights'  [Dublin,  1812],  and  his 
poem  'The  Devil's  Walk'  (a  broadsheet,  of  which  the  only  known 


556  RICHARD  GANNETT 

copy  is  in  the  Public  Record  Office)  to  sea  in  boxes  and  bottles. 
Finding  it  advisable  to  disappear,  he  took  refuge  at  Tanyrallt, 
a  house  near  Tremadoc  in  North  Wales,  where  his  landlord,  Mr. 
Madocks,  M.P.  for  Boston,  was  constructing  the  embankment 
which,  at  a  great  sacrifice  of  natural  picturesqueness,  has  redeemed 
from  the  sea  the  estuary  of  the  Glaslyn.  The  work  was  battered 
by  storms,  and  its  financial  situation  was  precarious.  Shelley 
hurried  up  to  London  to  raise  money  on  its  behalf,  and  there  made 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  Godwin,  who  had  previously  come 
down  to  visit  him  at  Lynmouth,  and  '  found  only  that  he  was  not 
to  be  found.'  His  residence  at  Tanyrallt  was  terminated  by  a 
mysterious  occurrence  in  the  following  February,  which  he  rep- 
resented as  the  attack  of  an  assassin,  but  which  was  in  all  pro- 
bability an  hallucination.  He  sought  refuge  in  Ireland  with  his 
family,  which  had  for  some  time  included  Harriet's  elder  sister 
Eliza,  an  addition  pernicious  to  his  domestic  peace.  Leaving  her 
at  Killarney  'with  plenty  of  books  but  no  money,'  Shelley  and 
Harriet  travelled  up  to  London,  where  on  28  June  1813,  their 
daughter  lanthe  (afterwards  Mrs.  Esdaile,  d.  1876)  was  born. 
By  the  end  of  July  they  had  taken  a  house  at  Bracknell  in  Berk- 
shire, near  Windsor  Forest.  '  Queen  Mab,'  principally  written, 
as  would  seem,  in  1812,  was  privately  printed  about  this  time 
('Queen  Mab:  A  Philosophical  Poem,'  London,  1813,  8vo), 
with  notes  that  might  very  well  have  been  spared,  including 
'a  vindication  of  natural  diet'  (the  'Vindication'  was  separately 
printed  London,  1813,  8vo,  but  is  excessively  rare).  It  remained 
unknown  until  a  piratical  reproduction  of  it  in  1821  (which  Shelley 
vainly  endeavoured  to  suppress  by  an  injunction)  excited  attention, 
and  it  obtained  a  celebrity  long  denied  to  his  maturer  and  more 
truly  poetical  writings.  It  is  indeed  admirably  adapted  to  serve 
as  a  freethinking  and  socialistic  gospel,  being  couched  in  a  strain 
of  rhetoric  so  exalted  as  to  pass  easily  for  poetry.  Early  in  1814 
he  published  anonymously  an  ironical  'Refutation  of  Deism' 
in  a  dialogue  (London,  8vo),  perhaps  the  rarest  of  his  writings; 
it  was,  however,  reprinted  in  1815  in  the  'Theological  Inquirer.' 
Shelley  was  now  on  the  eve  of  the  great  crisis  of  his  life,  his  separa- 
tion from  Harriet.  So  late  as  September  1813  he  speaks  of  their 
'close-woven  happiness.'  But  radical  incompatibility  of  tern- 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY  557 

perament  had  already  laid  the  foundation  of  an  estrangement. 
Hogg,  writing  of  January  1814,  says:  'The  good  Harriet  was  now 
in  full  force,  vigour,  and  effect;  roseate  as  ever,  at  times  perhaps 
rather  too  rosy.  She  had  entirely  relinquished  her  favourite 
practice  of  reading  aloud  .  .  .  neither  did  she  read  much  to  her- 
self ;  her  studies,  which  had  been  so  constant  and  exemplary,  had 
dwindled  away,  and  Bysshe  had  ceased  to  express  any  interest 
in  them,  and  to  urge  her,  as  of  old,  to  devote  herself  to  the  culti- 
vation of  her  mind.  When  I  called  upon  her,  she  proposed  a  walk 
.  .  .  the  walk  commonly  conducted  us  to  some  fashionable  bonnet- 
shop."  These  ominous  details  are  followed  by  a  pathetic  letter 
from  Shelley,  dated  16  March,  deploring  the  ruin  of  his  domestic 
happiness  and  the  desolation  of  his  home,  from  which  he  has  been 
absent  for  a  month.  In  these  circumstances  it  is  preposterous  to 
attribute  the  estrangement  to  Shelley's  passion  for  Mary  Godwin, 
whom,  except  perhaps  casually  as  a  girl,  he  had  not  even  seen. 
Nor  is  there  any  reason  to  impugn  Harriet's  conjugal  fidelity; 
her  attachment  had  involuntarily  decayed,  and  her  tastes  and 
habits  had  rendered  Shelley's  society  uncongenial  to  her.  None 
would  affirm  that  the  youth  of  twenty  either  exercised  the  patience 
or  made  the  efforts  which  he  ought  to  have  done,  yet  he  was  far 
from  acting  with  the  precipitancy  commonly  attributed  to  him. 
He  seems  to  have  foreseen  that  a  separation  might  ensue ;  for  on 
23  March  Harriet,  hitherto  only  united  to  him  by  a  Scots  ceremony, 
was  remarried  with  the  rites  of  the  church  of  England,  thus  secur- 
ing her  legal  status  in  any  event.  But  so  late  as  May,  some  time 
after  his  meeting  with  Mary  Godwin,  he  is  found  pleading  in 
pathetic  verse  for  the  restoration  of  Harriet's  affections;  and  his 
lines  to  Mary  a  month  later,  though  betraying  great  agitation  of 
mind,  are  not  those  of  one  who  is  or  wishes  to  be  an  accepted  lover. 
But  matters  were  evidently  tending  this  way,  and  the  crisis  was 
precipitated  by  Harriet's  ill-judged  step  of  leaving  her  home  and 
retiring  with  her  child  to  her  father's  house  at  Bath  towards  the 
end  of  June.  She  speedily  saw  her  error,  but  it  was  too  late. 
Shelley  seems  to  have  summoned  her  to  town  about  14  July,  and 
after  several  interviews  between  them,  partly  relating  no  doubt 
to  the  'deeds  and  settlements'  mentioned  in  subsequent  corre- 
spondence, he  quitted  England  with  Mary  Godwin  on  28  July. 


558  RICHARD   GARNETT 

They  took  with  them  Jane  Clairmont  [q.  v.],  a  daughter  by  her  first 
marriage  of  Mary  Godwin's  stepmother,  a  most  imprudent  step 
and  the  source  of  many  calumnies. 

The  fugitives  crossed  the  Channel  in  an  open  boat,  hastened 
to  Paris,  and  made  their  way  through  the  eastern  provinces  of 
France,  still  black  with  the  devastation  of  war,  to  Switzerland, 
where  they  hoped  to  find  a  permanent  abode.  On  the  way  Shelley 
wrote  to  Harriet,  proposing  that  she  should  join  them,  a  project 
sufficiently  repellent,  but  indicating  that  Shelley  had  parted  with 
his  wife  on  terms  that,  in  his  eyes  at  any  rate,  rendered  friendly 
relations  possible.  Residence  in  Switzerland,  however,  soon 
proved  impracticable  for  himself  and  Mary ;  expected  remittances 
failed  to  arrive,  and  they  were  only  enabled  to  effect  their  return 
home  by  the  cheapness  of  the  Rhine  water-carriage.  Their  ad- 
ventures were  recorded  in  a  little  narrative  (*  The  History  of  a  Six 
Weeks'  Tour,'  written  and  published  in  1817)  recently  republished 
with  a  charming  commentary,  by  Mr.  Charles  Isaac  Elton  (Lon- 
don, 1894,  8vo).  The  remainder  of  the  year,  during  which  Harriet 
gave  birth  to  Charles  Bysshe,  a  son  by  Shelley,  was  very  trying. 
Shelleys,  Godwins,  and  Westbrooks  were  all  inimical,  and  every 
source  of  pecuniary  supply  was  cut  off  but  the  post-obit.  At  the 
beginning  of  1815  Shelley's  affairs  took  a  favourable  turn  owing 
to  the  death  of  his  grandfather.  The  new  baronet,  Sir  Timothy, 
finding  that  his  son  could  now  encumber  the  estate,  thought  it 
best  to  come  to  terms  with  him.  No  real  reconciliation  was  effected, 
but  Shelley  received  i,ooo/.  a  year,  2ool.  out  of  which  he  settled 
on  Harriet.  After  a  tour  in  the  south  of  England,  he  took  a  house 
at  Bishopgate,  close  by  Windsor  Forest.  Consumption  seemed 
to  threaten  for  a  time  but  passed  away.  The  feeling  thus  en- 
gendered combined  with  the  solemnity  of  the  forest  scenery  to 
inspire  'Alastor,'  the  first  poem  in  which  he  is  truly  himself, 
where  the  presentiment  of  impending  dissolution  and  'the  desire 
of  the  moth  for  the  star'  are  shadowed  forth  in  an  obscure  but 
majestic  allegory.  It  was  published  in  1816  ('Alastor,  or  the 
Spirit  of  Solitude,'  London,  8vo),  with  some  minor  poems,  also 
in  a  purely  Shelleyan  key.  During  the  winter  Shelley  pursued  the 
study  of  Greek  literature  in  conjunction  with  his  friends  Hogg  and 
Thomas  Love  Peacock  [q.  v.],  who  had  been  introduced  to  him  by 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY   BYSSHE  SHELLEY  559 

their  common  publisher  Hookham.  Both  were  excellent  classical 
scholars,  but  Shelley  alone  of  the  three  could  assimilate  the  inner 
spirit  of  Greece,  and  these  studies  were  most  favourable  to  his 
development.  At  this  time  dawns  the  tranquillity  of  soul  which, 
though  sorely  tried  by  storms  from  within  and  without,  beamed 
more  and  more  throughout  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Hence- 
forth he  no  longer  aspired  to  enter  personally  into  political  agi- 
tation, and  was  content  to  work  upon  the  world  by  his  writings. 
About  this  time,  too,  was  most  probably  written  the  beautiful  if 
inconclusive  'Essay  on  Christianity,'  first  printed  in  'Shelley 
Memorials'  (1859),  which  shows  so  remarkable  a  progress  from 
the  prejudice  and  unreason  of  the  notes  to  'Queen  Mab.' 

In  May  1816  this  repose  was  interrupted  by  a  hasty  flight  to 
the  continent,  precipitated  in  all  probability  by  the  unbearable 
annoyance  of  Godwin's  affairs.  Godwin's  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ments had  led  him  to  revise  his  opinion  of  Shelley's  conduct.  He 
importuned  Shelley  for  money,  which  Shelley  was  for  a  time  only 
too  ready  to  supply;  but  patience  failed  at  last,  and,  weary  of 
perpetual  contest,  he  withdrew  from  the  scene  with  more  expedi- 
tion than  dignity.  The  influence  of  Jane,  or,  as  she  now  called 
herself,  Claire  Clairmont,  no  doubt  also  contributed  to  their  de- 
parture, although  both  Shelley  and  Mary  were  ignorant  of  the 
liaison  with  Bryon  which  made  her  anxious  to  join  him  in  Switzer- 
land. Shelley  now  met  Byron  there  for  the  first  time,  and  little 
as  their  characters  had  in  common,  similarity  of  fortune  and 
affinity  of  genius  made  them  friends.  'The  most  gentle,  the  most 
amiable,  and  the  least  worldly-minded  person  I  ever  met,'  said 
Byron  afterwards.  '  I  have  seen  nothing  like  him,  and  never  shall 
again,  I  am  certain.'  They  travelled  together,  and  Byron's 
poetry,  to  its  great  advantage,  was  deeply  influenced  by  his  new 
friendship.  Shelley  composed  his  'Mont  Blanc,'  and  Mary 
conceived  and  partly  wrote  her  'Frankenstein.'  Returning  to 
England  in  the  autumn,  they  established  themselves  at  Bath,  prior 
to  occupying  the  house  which,  probably  at  Peacock's  recommenda- 
tion, they  had  taken  at  Great  Marlow,  where  two  stunning  blows 
fell  upon  them.  The  melancholy  death  of  Fanny  Godwin,  Mary's 
half-sister  [see  GODWIN,  WILLIAM,  the  younger,  and  GODWIN, 
MRS.  MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT],  was  succeeded  by  the  dismal 


560  RICHARD   GARNETT 

tragedy  of  Harriet  Shelley.  Learning  that  she  had  quitted  her 
father's  house,  Shelley  was  having  every  search  made  for  her, 
when,  on  10  Dec.  1816,  her  body  was  taken  from  the  Serpentine, 
where  it  had  been  for  three  or  four  weeks.  She  was  apparently 
in  an  advanced  state  of  pregnancy  (cf.  Times,  12  Dec.  1816;  the 
verdict  at  the  inquest  on  'Harriet  Smith'  was  'Found  drowned'). 
The  circumstances  immediately  occasioning  her  death  are  too 
obscure  to  be  investigated  with  profit.  Shelley  certainly  had  no 
share  in  them,  but  his  relations  with  her  were  no  doubt  present  to 
his  mind  when  he  afterwards  spoke  of  himself  as  'a  prey  to  the 
reproaches  of  memory.'  He  hastened,  nevertheless,  to  perform 
the  obvious  duty  of  giving  his  union  with  Mary  a  legal  sanction 
(they  were  married  on  30  Dec.  at  St.  Mildred's,  in  the  city  of  Lon- 
don), and  next  endeavoured  to  obtain  his  two  children  by  Harriet 
(lanthe  and  Charles  Bysshe)  from  her  relatives.  The  case  went 
before  the  court  of  chancery,  and,  by  a  memorable  decision  of  Lord 
Eldon,  on  27  March  1817,  was  decided  against  Shelley.  Early 
in  this  year  (1817)  appeared  Shelley's  'Proposal  for  putting  Re- 
form to  the  Vote  throughout  the  Kingdom.  By  the  Hermit  of 
Marlow,'  London,  8vo;  and,  under  a  like  pseudonym,  he  issued 
in  the  same  year  'An  Address  to  the  People  on  the  Death  of  the 
Princess  Charlotte'  (London,  1843,  8vo;  being  a  reprint  of  the 
lost  edition  of  1817). 

A  son,  William,  had  been  born  to  Shelley  and  Mary  Godwin  in 
January  1816,  and  September  1817  saw  the  birth  of  a  daughter, 
Clara.  The  household  was  further  augmented  by  the  company 
of  Claire  and  her  child  Allegra,  the  fruit  of  her  amour  with  Byron, 
which  had  ended  in  mutual  disgust  and  bitter  recrimination. 
Peacock  was  a  near  neighbour,  but  a  closer  friend  was  Leigh  Hunt, 
whom  Shelley  had  come  to  know  upon  his  return  from  Switzerland, 
and  whose  delicate  attentions  had  soothed  the  miseries  of  the  pre- 
ceding winter.  Shelley  gave  him  i,4oo/.  to  relieve  his  difficulties  — 
a  noble  action,  if  it  had  not  been  performed  at  the  expense  of  others 
who  had  juster  claims  upon  him.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Keats  through  Leigh  Hunt,  but  it  did  not  become  intimacy. 
Coleridge  he  never  met,  to  the  loss  of  both.  Godwin  renewed 
his  importunities  for  pecuniary  help,  which,  after  a  long  display  of 
patience  and  magnanimity  on  Shelley's  part,  ended  in  complete 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY  561 

estrangement.  Nothing  gives  a  higher  idea  of  the  energy  of 
Shelley's  mind  than  that,  amid  all  these  troubles,  the  most  ambi- 
tious of  his  poems  should  have  been  written  within  six  months. 
'The  Revolt  of  Islam'  (London,  1818,  8vo)  —  originally  called 
'Laon  and  Cythna'  (a  few  copies  were  printed  under  this  title 
in  1817),  and  wisely  altered  before  publication  —  may  be  described 
as  a  poet's  impassioned  vision  of  the  French  revolution  and  the 
succeeding  reaction.  Compared  with  the  later  'Prometheus 
Unbound'  it  is  the  product  of  a  mighty  ferment,  as  the  other 
poem  is  of  the  calm  ensuing  upon  it.  The  music  of  its  Spenserian 
stanza  is  unsurpassed  in  the  language;  and  although  the  middle 
part  is  somewhat  tedious,  Shelley  never  excelled  the  opening  and 
the  close  —  Cythna's  education  and  bridal,  the  picture  of  the 
fallen  tyrant,  the  tremendous  scenes  of  pestilence  and  famine; 
above  all,  perhaps,  the  dedication  to  Mary.  It  was  written  partly 
on  a  high  seat  in  Bisham  Wood,  partly  as  he  glided  or  anchored 
in  his  boat  amid  the  Thames  islets  and  miniature  waterfalls.  Its 
publication  occasioned  a  bitter  attack  in  the  'Quarterly,'  and 
drew  enthusiastic  praise  from  Professor  Wilson,  writing  under 
the  influence  of  De  Quincey;  but  it  was  otherwise  received  with 
the  indifference  which,  during  Shelley's  lifetime,  the  public,  in- 
cluding his  own  friends,  almost  invariably  manifested  towards 
his  works. 

When  not  writing  'The  Revolt  of  Islam'  Shelley  was  much 
engaged  in  relieving  the  distress  of  the  cottagers  in  his  neighbour- 
hood, and  was  publishing  his  political  tracts  under  the  signature  of 
'The  Hermit  of  Marlow.'  By  the  beginning  of  1818  he  had  be- 
come restless,  and  indeed  the  motives  for  emigration  were  weighty 
as  well  as  numerous.  Of  one  he  did  not  think  —  the  great  benefit 
which  his  genius  was  destined  to  receive  by  transplantation  to 
a  land  of  romantic  beauty  and  classical  association.  He  left 
England  on  n  March,  and  arrived  at  Turin  on  31  March  1818. 
He  remained  in  Italy  till  his  death. 

The  incidents  of  Shelley's  life  in  Italy  were  mainly  intellectual. 
After  spending  the  spring  of  1818  at  Como  and  Milan,  and  the 
summer  at  the  baths  of  Lucca,  where  he  translated  Plato's  '  Sym- 
posium,' and  finished  'Rosalind  and  Helen'  (commenced  the 
year  before  at  Marlow),  he  went  to  Venice  on  the  unwelcome 


562  RICHARD   GARNETT 

errand  of  delivering  Claire's  daughter  to  her  father,  Byron.  Here 
his  own  daughter  Clara  died  of  a  disorder  induced  by  the  climate. 
Byron  lent  him  a  villa  at  Este,  where  he  began  '  Prometheus  Un- 
bound,' and  wrote  the  'Lines  on  the  Euganean  Hills,'  published, 
along  with  '  Rosalind  and  Helen '  and  a  few  other  poems,  in  the 
following  year.  He  also  wrote  about  this  time  '  Julian  and  Mad- 
dalo,'  inspired  by  his  visits  to  Byron  at  Venice.  Venice  and 
Byron  stand  out  vividly  in  the  poem  against  a  background  of  utter 
obscurity.  In  November  he  set  out  for  Rome,  and  began  upon  the 
journey  the  series  of  descriptive  letters  to  Peacock,  which  places 
him  at  the  head  of  English  epistolographers  in  this  department. 
The  masters  of  a  splendid  prose  style  rarely  carry  this  into  their 
familiar  correspondence,  but  Shelley's  prose  writings"  and  his  letters 
are  of  a  piece.  December  was  spent  at  Naples,  where  painful 
circumstances  imperfectly  known  produced  the  'Lines  written 
in  Dejection,'  the  first  great  example  of  that  marvel  of  melody 
and  intensity,  the  characteristically  Shelley  an  lyric.  Returning 
to  Rome,  he  remained  there  until  June  1819,  when  the  death  of 
his  infant  son  William  drove  him  to  Leghorn,  and  subsequently 
to  Florence,  where  his  youngest  son,  afterwards  Sir  Percy  Florence 
Shelley,  was  born  in  November.  The  greater  part  of  'Prome- 
theus Unbound'  had  been  written  at  Rome,  and  immediately 
afterwards  he  turned  to  the  tragedy  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  whose 
countenance,  or  reputed  countenance,  had  fascinated  him  in 
Guide's  portrait  in  the  Colonna  palace  at  Rome.  Both  pieces 
were  published  in  the  course  of  1819-20  ('The  Cenci:  a  Trag- 
edy in  five  Acts,'  Leghorn,  1891,  8vo;  2nd  edit.  London,  1821, 
8vo;  'Prometheus  Unbound,  a  lyrical  drama  in  four  acts,  with 
other  Poems,'  London,  1820,  8vo).  The  'Prometheus'  is  a 
dithyrambic  of  sublime  exultation  on  the  redemption  of  humanity, 
and  an  assemblage  of  all  that  language  has  of  gorgeousness  and 
verse  of  melody;  the  diction  and  passion  of  the  'Cenci'  are 
toned  down  to  their  sombre  theme,  as  different  from  the  'Pro- 
metheus' as  the  atrocity  of  its  chief  male  character  is  from  the 
transcendent  heroism  of  the  suffering  demi-god.  But  both,  the 
tragedy  no  less  than  the  mythological  drama,  are  effusions  of 
lyrical  emotion,  and  precisely  correspond  to  the  state  of  feeling 
which  produced  them. 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY  563 

The  'Ode  to  the  West  Wind,'  perhaps  the  grandest  of  Shelley's 
lyrics,  was  written  at  Florence  in  October  1819,  about  which  time 
he  also  produced  'Peter  Bell  the  Third,'  a  parody  of  Words- 
worth, evincing  more  genuine  if  more  discriminating  admiration 
than  many  panegyrics.  'The  Masque  of  Anarchy,'  a  poem 
provoked  by  the  indignation  at  the  'Manchester  massacre'  of 
August  1819,  was  another  composition  of  this  period.  It  did  not 
appear  until  1832.  'Peter  Bell  the  Third'  remained  in  manu- 
script until  1839.  At  the  close  of  1819  Shelley  removed  to  Pisa, 
which  was  in  the  main  his  domicile  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He 
had  become  greatly  interested  in  a  project  of  his  friends,  the 
Gisbornes,  for  a  steamboat  between  Genoa  and  Leghorn.  The 
undertaking  proved  premature,  but  produced  (July  1820)  that 
incomparable  union  of  high  and  familiar  poetry,  the  'Epistle  to 
Maria  Gisborne.'  The  year  1820  also  produced  the  dazzling 
'Witch  of  Altas'  and  the  humorous  burlesque  on  Queen  Caroline's 
trial,  'Swellfoot  the  Tyrant'  ('(Edipus  Tyrannus,  or  Swellfoot 
the  Tyrant :  a  Tragedy  in  two  Acts.  Translated  from  the  original 
Doric,'  London,  1820,  8vo,  written  in  August  and  published 
anonymously;  on  the  Society  for  the  Suppression  of  Vice  threaten- 
ing to  prosecute,  it  was  withdrawn,  and  only  some  seven  copies  of 
the  original  are  known;  reprinted,  London,  1876,  8vo).  But  the 
year  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  lyrics,  ranging  from  the  '  Sensi- 
tive Plant'  and  the  'Skylark'  down  to  the  eight  lines  for  which 
Landor,  ever  hyperbolical  in  praise  and  dispraise,  would  have 
bartered  the  whole  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  The  year  was 
uneventful  until  near  its  end,  when  Shelley  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  lovely  Emilia  Viviani,  a  young  Italian  lady  who  had  been 
imprisoned  in  a  convent  with  a  view  to  extorting  her  consent  to 
an  obnoxious  marriage.  The  first  draft  of  his  '  Epipsychidion ' 
existed  some  time  before  Shelley  met  Emilia,  but  his  meeting  with 
her  supplied  the  needful  impulse  to  perfect  and  complete  that 
piece  of  radiant  mysticism  and  rapturous  melody  (100  copies, 
London,  1821,  8vo).  It  attests  the  growing  influence  of  Plato 
whose  'Banquet'  he  had  already  translated.  That  influence  is 
even  more  apparent  in  another  composition  of  1821,  the  'Defence 
of  Poetry,'  written  in  answer  to  Peacock,  almost  contemporane- 
ously with  'Epipsychidion.'  Two  additional  parts  were  contem- 


564  RICHARD   GARNETT 

plated,  but  never  written,  and  the  essay  remained  in  manuscript 
until  the  publication  of  Shelley's  prose  writings  in  1840.  Before 
long  a  further  incentive  to  composition  was  supplied  by  the  death 
of  Keats,  whose  memory  inspired  'Adonais'  (Pisa,  1821,  4to), 
not  the  most  magnificent  of  Shelley's  poems,  but  perhaps  the  one 
of  most  sustained  magnificence.  The  concluding  stanzas  more 
fully  than  any  other  passage  in  his  writings  embody  his  ultimate 
speculative  conclusions,  substantially  identical  with  Spinoza's, 
whose  'Tractatus'  he  began  to  translate  about  the  same  time. 
The  chief  external  incident  of  the  year  (1821)  was  Shelley's  visit 
to  Byron  at  Ravenna,  for  the  sake  of  seeing  Byron's  and  Claire 
Clairmont's  daughter,  the  little  Allegra,  before  Byron  removed 
to  Pisa.  The  relations  between  Byron  and  Claire,  who  now 
taught  Lady  Mountcashell's  daughters  in  Florence,  were  a  con- 
tinual source  of  friction.  Shelley's  conduct  towards  both  parties 
was  unexceptionable,  and  showed  what  progress  he  had  made  in 
calm  judgment  and  self-control.  Shelley  had  refused  any  further 
contributions  to  Godwin,  but  the  latter's  demands  continued,  and 
Shelley  permitted  Mary  to  send  to  her  father  the  money  she  received 
for  her  new  novel,  'Valperga.' 

Byron's  residence  at  Pisa,  with  all  its  drawbacks,  enlivened  and 
diversified  Shelley's  life,  which  was  further  cheered  by  the  society 
of  the  gentle  and  generous  Edward  Elliker  Williams  [q.  v.]  and  of 
his  wife  Jane,  the  subject  of  Shelley's  'With  a  Guitar'  and  other 
exquisite  lyrics.  In  the  autumn  of  1821  the  tidings  of  the  Greek 
insurrection  prompted  his  'Hellas'  (London,  1822,  8vo),  an 
imitation  in  plan,  though  not  in  diction,  of  the  'Persae'  of  ^Eschy- 
lus,  containing  some  of  his  noblest  lyrical  writing.  The  indifference 
of  the  public  seems  to  have  discouraged  him  from  prolonged  efforts 
to  which  he  was  not  constrained,  as  he  was  in  this  instance,  by 
some  overmastering  impulse.  The  tragedy  on  Charles  I,  which 
he  began  to  write  early  in  1822,  made  little  progress;  but  his 
powers  as  a  translator  appeared  at  their  best  in  the  scenes  from 
'Faust'  and  Calderon's  'Magico  Prodigioso'  which  he  rendered 
somewhat  later  as  the  basis  of  papers  for  the  'Liberal.'  His  ap- 
pearance and  conversation  at  this  time  are  vividly  described  by 
Edward  John  Trelawny  [q.  v.],  a  new  addition  to  the  Pisan  circle. 
In  April  the  Shelleys  and  Williamses  removed  to  Lerici,  near 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY  565 

Spezzia.  The  wild  scenery  and  primitive  people  were  most  con- 
genial to  Shelley,  who  declared  himself  ready  to  say  with  Faust 
to  the  passing  hour,  'Verweile  doch,  du  bist  so  schon.'  While 
sailing,  studying,  listening  to  Mrs.  Williams's  music,  and  writing 
his  '  Triumph  of  Life '  as  his  boat  rocked  in  the  moonlight,  h^ieard 
of  the  Leigh  Hunts'  arrival  at  Pisa,  and  hastened  to  mee^hem. 
Having  made  them  as  comfortable  as  Byron's  moodiness  and  Mrs. 
Hunt's  apparently  mortal  sickness  permitted,  Shelley  sailed  for 
Spezzia  from  Leghorn  on  8  July  1822,  accompanied  by  Williams. 
Scarcely  had  they  embarked  when  the  face  of  sky  and  sea  darkened 
ominously.  Trelawny  watched  the  little  vessel  sailing  in  the 
company  of  many  others,  and  graphically  describes  how  all  were 
blotted  from  view  by  the  squall,  and  how,  when  this  had  passed 
off,  all  reappeared  except  Shelley's,  which  was  never  seen  again 
until  months  afterwards  she  was  dredged  up  from  the  bottom  of 
the  sea.  Some  thought  that  she  had  been  accidentally  or  de- 
signedly run  down  in  the  squall,  but  many  circumstances  militate 
against  this  theory.  Shelley's  body,  best  recognised  by  the  volumes 
of  Sophocles  and  Keats  in  the  pockets,  was  cast  ashore  near  Viareg- 
gio  on  1 8  July,  and,  after  having  been  buried  for  some  time  in  the 
sand,  was  on  16  Aug.,  in  the  presence  of  Byron,  Hunt,  and  Tre- 
lawny, cremated,  to  allow  of  the  interment  of  the  ashes  in  the  prot- 
estant  cemetery  at  Rome.  This  took  place  on  7  Dec.  immediately 
under  the  pyramid  of  Caius  Cestius.  Leigh  Hunt  wrote  the  Latin 
epitaph,  with  the  famous  Cor  Cordium,  and  Trelawny  added  three 
English  lines  from  'The  Tempest.'  The  heart,  which  would 
not  burn,  and  had  been  snatched  from  the  flames  by  Trelawny, 
was  given  to  Mary  Shelley,  and  is  in  the  keeping  of  her  family  (cf . 
GUIDO  BIAGI,  Gli  ultimi  giorni  di  P.  B.  Shelley,  Florence,  1892). 
In  1823  there  appeared  'Poetical  Pieces,'  containing  'Prome- 
theus Unmasked'  (sic),  'Hellas,'  'The  Cenci,'  'Rosalind  and 
Helen,'  with  other  poems.  'Julian  and  Maddalo'  and  'The 
Witch  of  Atlas,'  which  had  hitherto  remained  in  manuscript,  were 
published  in  1824  along  with  the  unfinished  'Triumph  of  Life,' 
the  'Epistle  to  Maria  Gisborne,'  a  large  number  of  minor  lyrics, 
and  translations,  including  those  executed  for  the  'Liberal.' 
The  title  of  the  collection  was  'Posthumous  Poems'  (London, 
8vo),  and  the  expenses  were  guaranteed  by  two  poets,  B.  W. 


566  RICHARD   GARNETT 

Procter  and  T.  L.  Beddoes,  and  Beddoes's  future  biographer, 
T.  Kelsall.  It  was  almost  immediately  withdrawn  in  virtue  of  an 
arrangement  with  Sir  Timothy  Shelley,  and  for  long  the  public 
demand  continued  to  be  supplied  by  pirated  editions,  the  refusal 
of  the  courts  to  protect  'Queen  Mab'  being  apparently  taken 
as  implying  a  license  to  appropriate  anything.  A  pirated  edition 
of  'Miscellaneous  Poems'  appeared  in  numbers  during  1826 
(London,  12 mo).  The  consequent  cheapness  of  circulation 
greatly  extended  Shelley's  fame  and  influence,  although  it  some- 
times brought  his  poems  into  singular  company.  In  1829  ad- 
mirers at  Cambridge  reprinted  'Adonais,'  and  undertook  a  fruit- 
less mission  for  the  conversion  of  his  own  university.  In  1829 
and  1834  very  imperfect  issues  of  his  'Poetical  Works'  appeared, 
the  former  along  with  those  of  Coleridge  and  Keats,  and  with  a 
memoir  by  Cyrus  Redding  [q.  v.].  In  1839,  the  obstacles  to  an 
authentic  edition  having  been  removed  in  some  unexplained  man- 
ner, Mrs.  Shelley  published  what  was  then  supposed  to  be  a  definitive 
edition  in  four  volumes,  enriched  with  biographical  notes  and  some 
very  beautiful  lyrics  which  had  remained  in  manuscript.  An 
American  edition  of  this,  with  a  memoir  by  J.  Russell  Lowell,  ap- 
peared at  Boston  in  1855,  3  vols.  i2mo.  A  collection  of  his  letters 
and  miscellaneous  prose  writings  followed  in  1840.  The  letters, 
published  in  1852  with  a  preface  by  Robert  Browning,  are  mostly 
fabrications  by  a  person  claiming  to  be  a  natural  son  of  Byron. 
Many  most  important  additions,  however,  have  been  made  to 
those  published  in  1840.  In  1862  the  present  writer,  as  the  result 
of  an  examination  of  Shelley's  manuscripts,  published  a  number  of 
fragments  in  verse  and  prose^  some  of  extreme  interest,  under  the 
title  'Relics  of  Shelley.'  These,  as  well  as  many  of  the  new 
letters  continually  coming  to  light,  have  been  incorporated  into 
more  recent  editions  of  Shelley's  writings.  The  only  recent  edition 
virtually  complete  is  Mr.  Buxton  Forman's  in  eight  volumes,  con- 
taining both  verse  and  prose  (London,  1876-80,  8vo);  but 
those  of  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti  (1870,  1878,  and  1888)  and  of  Mr. 
G.  E.  Woodberry  (American,  1892,  1893)  a^so  deserve  high  con- 
sideration. Letters  to  Claire  Clairmont  and  Miss  Kitchener,  and 
Harriet  Shelley's  letters  to  Miss  Nugent,  have  been  printed  sepa- 
rately in  limited  editions.  Translations  into  French,  Italian,  Ger- 


THE  LIFE  OF  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY  567 

man,  and  Russian  are  becoming  numerous.  Selections  have  been 
issued  by,  among  others,  Mathilde  Blind  (with  memoir,  Tauchnitz, 
187 2),  the  Rev.  Stopford  A.  Brooke  (1880),  and  by  the  present  writer 
(Parchment  Library,  1880).  The  bulk  of  Shelley's  manuscripts 
has  been  deposited  by  his  daughter-in-law,  Lady  Shelley,  in  the 
Bodleian  Library. 

Shelley's  eldest  son,  Charles  Bysshe,  the  offspring  of  his  union 
with  Harriet  Westbrook,  did  not  long  survive  him,  and  upon  the 
death  of  Sir  Timothy  Shelley  in  1844  the  baronetcy  passed  to  the 
poet's  only  surviving  son  by  Mary  Godwin,  Sir  Percy  Florence 
Shelley  (1819-1889).  This  most  gentle  and  lovable  man,  the  in- 
heritor of  most  of  his  father's  fine  qualities  and  of  many  of  his 
tastes  and  accomplishments,  died  in  December  1889.  He  married, 
22  June  1848,  Jane,  daughter  of  Thomas  Gibson,  and  widow  of 
the  Hon.  Charles  Robert  St.  John,  who  survives  him;  but,  the 
marriage  having  proved  childless,  the  baronetcy  devolved  upon 
Edward,  son  of  Shelley's  younger  brother  John,  and  is  now  en- 
joyed by  Sir  Edward's  brother  Charles. 

The  excessive  vehemence  which  hurried  Shelley  into  many  hasty 
and  unjustifiable  steps,  was,  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  a  serious 
infirmity,  but  failure  to  control  impulse  seems  to  have  been  a 
condition  of  his  greatness  and  of  his  influence  on  mankind.  He 
took  Parnassus  by  storm.  His  poetical  productiveness  would 
have  been  admirable  as  the  result  of  a  long  life ;  as  the  work  in 
the  main  of  little  more  than  five  years,  it  is  one  of  the  greatest 
marvels  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind.  Had  it  been  as  unequal 
in  matter  as  Dryden,  in  manner  as  Wordsworth,  it  would  still  have 
been  wonderful ;  but,  apart  from  occasional  obscurities  in  meaning 
and  lapses  in  grammar,  it  is  as  perfect  in  form  as  in  substance,  and 
equable  in  merit  to  a  degree  unapproached  by  any  of  his  contem- 
poraries. The  lucidity  and  symmetry  of  the  minor  lyrics,  in  partic- 
ular, rival  anything  in  antiquity,  and  surpass  the  best  modern 
examples  by  their  greater  apparent  spontaneity,  the  result  in  fact 
of  the  most  strenuous  revision. 

In  1835  Stuart  Mill  ably  compared  and  contrasted  him  with 
Wordsworth;  and  the  finest  passage  in  his  'Pauline'  (1833)  is 
the  outburst  of  Browning's  passionate  admiration.  After  many 
vicissitudes,  opinion  seems  to  be  agreeing  to  recognise  Shelley 


568  RICHARD  GARNETT 

as  the  supreme  lyrist,  all  of  whose  poems,  whatever  their  outward 
form,  should  be  viewed  from  the  lyrical  standpoint.  This  is  a 
just  judgment,  for  even  the  apparently  austere  and  methodical 
4  Cenci '  is  as  truly  born  of  a  passionate  lyrical  impulse  as  any  of 
his  songs.  Despite  his  limitations,  no  modern  poet,  unless  it  be 
Wordsworth,  has  so  deeply  influenced  English  poetry. 

The  splendour  of  his  prose  style,  while  exalting  his  character 
for  imagination,  has  seemed  incompatible  with  homely  wisdom. 
In  reality  his  essays  and  correspondence  are  not  more  distinguished 
by  fine  insight  into  high  matters  than  by  sound  common-sense  in 
ordinary  things.  No  contemporary,  perhaps,  so  habitually  con- 
veys the  impression  of  a  man  in  advance  of  his  time.  His  ca- 
pacity for  calm  discussion  appears  to  advantage  under  the  most 
provoking  circumstances,  as  in  his  correspondence  with  Godwin, 
Booth,  and  Southey.  As  a  critic,  Shelley  does  not  possess  Cole- 
ridge's subtlety  and  penetration,  but  has  a  gift  for  the  intuitive 
recognition  of  excellence  which  occasionally  carries  him  too  far  in 
enthusiasm,  but  at  all  events  insures  him  against  the  petty  and  self- 
interested  jealousies  from  which  none  of  his  contemporaries,  except 
Scott  and  Keats,  can  be  considered  exempt.  This  delight  in  the 
work  of  others,  even  more  than  his  own  poetical  power,  renders  him 
matchless  as  a  translator.  Of  his  lyrics,  those  which  have  been 
most  frequently  set  to  music  are:  'I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee,' 
'The  Cloud,'  'The  fountains  mingle  with  the  river,'  'One  word 
is  too  often  profaned,'  and  'Music  when  soft  voices  die.' 

Only  two  genuine  portraits  of  Shelley  are  extant,  and  neither  is 
satisfactory.  The  earlier,  a  miniature,  was  taken  when  he  was 
only  thirteen  or  fourteen,  and  is  authenticated  by  its  strong  and 
undesigned  resemblance  to  miniatures  of  the  Pilfold  family.  The 
later  portrait,  painted  by  Miss  Curran  at  Rome  in  1819,  was  left 
in  a  flat  and  unfinished  state.  'I  was  on  the  point  of  burning  it 
before  I  left  Italy,'  the  artist  told  Mrs.  Shelley;  'I  luckily  saved 
it  just  as  the  fire  was  scorching.'  There  is  a  general  agreement 
among  the  descriptions  of  personal  acquaintance;  all  agree  as  to 
the  slight  but  tall  and  sinewy  frame,  the  abundant  brown  hair, 
the  fair  but  somewhat  tanned  and  freckled  complexion,  the  dark 
blue  eyes,  with  their  habitual  expression  of  rapt  wonder,  and  the 
general  appearance  of  extreme  youth.  Resemblances,  by  no 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  569 

means  merely  fanciful,  have  been  found  with  the  portraits  of  No- 
valis,  of  Sir  Robert  Dudley,  styled  duke  of  Northumberland  and 
earl  of  Warwick  [q.  v.],  and  of  Antonio  Leisman  in  the  Florentine 
Ritratti  de'  Pittori.  The  preternatural  keenness  of  his  senses  is 
well  attested,  and  contributed  to  the  illusions  which  play  so  large 
a  part  in  his  history.  Of  late  years  two  splendid  monuments  have 
been  erected  to  Shelley  by  the  piety  of  his  son  and  daughter-in-law ; 
one  is  in  Christchurch  minster,  Hampshire;  the  other,  designed 
by  Mr.  Onslow  Ford,  R.A.,  is  at  University  College,  Oxford. 


THE  LIFE   OF   CHARLES   DICKENS 

SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.] 

DICKENS,  CHARLES  (1812-1870),  novelist,  was  born  7  Feb.  1812 
at  387  Mile  End  Terrace,  Commercial  Road,  Landport,  Portsea. 
His  father,  John  Dickens,  a  clerk  in  the  navy  pay  office,  with  a 
salary  of  8o/.  a  year,  was  then  stationed  in  the  Portsmouth  dock- 
yard. The  wife  of  the  first  Lord  Houghton  told  Mr.  Wemyss 
Reid  that  Mrs.  Dickens,  mother  of  John,  was  housekeeper  at 
Crewe,  and  famous  for  her  powers  of  story-telling  (WEMYSS  REID, 
in  Daily  News,  8  Oct.  1887).  John  Dickens  had  eight  children 
by  his  wife,  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Charles  Barrow,  a  lieutenant 
in  the  navy.  The  eldest,  Fanny,  was  born  in  1810.  Charles, 
the  second,  was  christened  Charles  John  Huffam  (erroneously 
entered  Huffham  in  the  register),  but  dropped  the  last  two  names. 
Charles  Dickens  remembered  the  little  garden  of  the  house  at 
Portsea,  though  his  father  was  recalled  to  London  when  he  was 
only  two  years  old.  In  1816  (probably)  the  family  moved  to 
Chatham.  Dickens  was  small  and  sickly;  he  amused  himself 
by  reading  and  by  watching  the  games  of  other  boys.  His  mother 
taught  him  his  letters,  and  he  pored  over  a  small  collection  of  books 
belonging  to  his  father.  Among  them  were  '  Tom  Jones,'  the 
'Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  'Don  Quixote,'  'Gil  Bias,'  and  especially 
Smollett's  novels,  by  which  he  was  deeply  impressed.  He  wrote 
an  infantine  tragedy  called  *  Misnar,  'founded  on  the l  Tales  of  the 


570  SIR  LESLIE   STEPHEN 

Genii.'  James  Lamert,  the  stepson  of  his  mother's  eldest  sister 
Mary  (whose  second  husband  was  Dr.  Lamert,  an  army  surgeon 
at  Chatham),  had  a  taste  for  private  theatricals.  Lamert  took 
Dickens  to  the  theatre,  in  which  the  child  greatly  delighted. 
John  Dickens's  salary  was  raised  to  2oo/.  in  1819,  and  to  35o/.  in 
1820,  at  which  amount  it  remained  until  he  left  the  service,  9 
March  1825.  It  was,  however,  made  insufficient  by  his  careless 
habits,  and  in  1821  he  left  his  first  house,  2  (now  n)  Ordnance 
Terrace,  for  a  smaller  house,  18  St.  Mary's  Place,  next  to  a  baptist 
chapel.  Dickens  was  then  sent  to  school  with  the  minister,  Mr. 
Giles  (see  LANGTON,  Childhood  of  Dickens) .  In  the  winter  of 
1822-3  his  father  was  recalled  to  Somerset  House,  and  settled 
in  Bayham  Street,  Camden  Town,  whither  his  son  followed 
in  the  spring.  John  Dickens,  whose  character  is  more  or  less 
represented  by  Micawber,  was  now  in  difficulties,  and  had  to 
make  a  composition  with  his  creditors.  He  was  (as  Dickens 
emphatically  stated)  a  very  affectionate  father,  and  took  a  pride  in 
his  son's  precocious  talents.  Yet  at  this  time  (according  to  the 
same  statement)  he  was  entirely  forgetful  to  the  son's  claims  to  a 
decent  education.  In  spite  of  the  family  difficulties,  the  eldest 
child,  Fanny,  was  sent  as  a  pupil  to  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music, 
but  Charles  was  left  to  black  his  father's  boots,  look  after  the 
younger  children,  and  do  small  errands.  Lamert  made  a  little 
theatre  for  the  child's  amusement.  His  mother's  elder  brother, 
Thomas  Barrow,  and  a  godfather  took  notice  of  him  occasionally. 
The  uncle  lodged  in  the  upper  floor  of  a  house  in  which  a  book- 
selling business  was  carried  on,  and  the  proprietress  lent  the  child 
some  books.  His  literary  tastes  were  kept  alive,  and  he  tried  his 
hand  at  writing  a  description  of  the  uncle's  barber.  His  mother 
now  made  an  attempt  to  retrieve  the  family  fortunes  by  taking  a 
house,  4  Gower  Street  North,  where  a  brass  plate  announced 
'Mrs.  Dickens's  establishment,'  but  failed  to  attract  any  pupils. 
The  father  was  at  last  arrested  and  carried  to  the  Marshalsea, 
long  afterwards  described  in  'Little  Dorrit.'  (Mr.  Langton 
thinks  that  the  prison  was  the  king's  bench,  where,  as  he  says, 
there  was  a  prisoner  named  Dorrett  in  1824.)  All  the  books  and 
furniture  went  gradually  to  the  pawnbroker's.  James  Lamert 
had  become  manager  of  a  blacking  warehouse,  and  obtained  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  571 

place  for  Dickens  at  6s.  or  js.  a  week  in  the  office  at  Hungerford 
Stairs.  Dickens  was  treated  as  a  mere  drudge,  and  employed  in 
making  up  parcels.  He  came  home  at  night  to  the  dismantled 
house  in  Gower  Street  till  the  family  followed  the  father  to  the 
Marshalsea,  and  then  lodged  in  Camden  Town  with  a  reduced  old 
lady,  a  Mrs.  Roylance,  the  original  of  Mrs.  Pipchin  in  'Dombey 
and  Son.'  Another  lodging  was  found  for  him  near  the  prison 
with  a  family  which  is  represented  by  the  Garlands  in  his  '  Old 
Curiosity  Shop.'  The  Dickenses  were  rather  better  off  in  prison 
than  they  had  been  previously.  The  maid-of-all-work  who  fol- 
lowed them  from  Bayham  Street  became  the  Marchioness  of  the 
'Old  Curiosity  Shop.'  The  elder  Dickens  at  last  took  the 
benefit  of  the  Insolvent  Debtors  Act,  and  moved  first  to  Mrs. 
Roylance's  house,  and  then  to  a  house  in  Somers  Town.  Dickens's 
amazing  faculty  of  observation  is  proved  by  the  use  made  in  his 
novels  of  all  that  he  now  saw,  especially  in  the  prison  scenes  of 
'  Pickwick '  and  in  the  earlier  part  of  '  David  Copperfield.'  That 
he  suffered  acutely  is  proved  by  the  singular  bitterness  shown  in 
his  own  narrative  printed  by  Forster.  He  felt  himself  degraded  by 
his  occupation.  When  his  sister  won  a  prize  at  the  Royal  Academy, 
he  was  deeply  humiliated  by  the  contrast  of  his  own  position,  though 
incapable  of  envying  her  success.  This  was  about  April  1824. 

The  family  circumstances  improved.  The  elder  Dickens  had 
received  a  legacy  which  helped  to  clear  off  his  debts ;  he  had  a  pen- 
sion and  after  some  time  he  obtained  employment  as  reporter  to  the 
'Morning  Chronicle.'  About  1824  Dickens  was  sent  to  a  school 
kept  by  a  Mr.  Jones  in  the  Hampstead  Road,  and  called  the  Well- 
ington House  Academy.  His  health  improved.  His  school- 
fellows remembered  him  as  a  handsome  lad,  overflowing  with  ani- 
mal spirits,  writing  stories,  getting  up  little  theatrical  performances, 
and  fond  of  harmless  practical  jokes,  but  not  distinguishing  him- 
self as  a  scholar.  After  two  years  at  this  school,  Dickens  went 
to  another  kept  by  a  Mr.  Dawson  in  Henrietta  Street,  Brunswick 
Square.  He  then  became  clerk  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Molloy  in 
New  Square,  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  soon  afterwards  (from  May  1827 
to  November  1828)  clerk  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Edward  Blackmore, 
attorney,  of  Gray's  Inn.  His  salary  with  Mr.  Blackmore  rose  from 
135.  6d.  to  155.  a  week.  Dickens's  energy  had  only  been  stimulated 


572  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

by  the  hardships  through  which  he  had  passed.  He  was  determined 
to  force  his  way  upwards.  He  endeavoured  to  supplement  his  scanty 
education  by  reading  at  the  British  Museum,  and  he  studied 
shorthand  writing  in  the  fashion  described  in  'David  Copperfield.' 
Copperfield's  youthful  passion  for  Dora  reflects  a  passion  of  the 
same  kind  in  Dickens's  own  career,  which,  though  hopeless, 
stimulated  his  ambition.  He  became  remarkably  expert  in  short- 
hand, and  after  two  years'  reporting  in  the  Doctors'  Commons  and 
other  courts,  he  entered  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons  as  re- 
porter to  the  'True  Sun.'  He  was  spokesman  for  the  reporters 
in  a  successful  strike.  For  two  sessions  he  reported  for  the '  Mirror 
of  Parliament,'  started  by  a  maternal  uncle,  and  in  the  session  of 
1835  became  reporter  for  the  'Morning  Chronicle.'  While  still 
reporting  at  Doctors'  Commons  he  had  thoughts  of  becoming  an 
actor.  He  made  an  application  to  George  Bartley  [q.  v.],  manager 
at  Covent  Garden,  which  seems  to  have  only  missed  acceptance 
by  an  accident,  and  took  great  pains  to  practise  the  art.  He  finally 
abandoned  this  scheme  on  obtaining  his  appointment  on  the  '  Morn- 
ing Chronicle'  (FORSTER,  ii.  179).  His  powers  were  rapidly  devel- 
oped by  the  requirements  of  his  occupation.  He  was,  as  he  says 
(Letters,  i.  438),  'the  best  and  most  rapid  reporter  ever  known.' 
He  had  to  hurry  to  and  from  country  meetings,  by  coach  and  post- 
chaise,  encountering  all  the  adventures  incident  to  travelling  in  the 
days  before  railroads,  making  arrangements  for  forwarding  re- 
ports, and  attracting  the  notice  of  his  employers  by  his  skill,  re- 
source, and  energy.  John  Black  [q.  v.],  the  editor,  became  a  warm 
friend,  and  was,  he  says,  his  'first  hearty  out-and-out  appreciator.' 
He  soon  began  to  write  in  the  periodicals.  The  appearance  of 
his  first  article,  '  A  Dinner  at  Popular  Walk '  (reprinted  as  '  Mr. 
Minns  and  his  Cousin'),  in  the  'Monthly  Magazine'  for  Decem- 
ber 1833,  filled  him  with  exultation.  Nine  others  followed  till 
February  1835.  The  paper  in  August  1834  first  bore  the  signature 
'Boz.'  It  was  the  pet  name  of  his  youngest  brother,  Augustus, 
called  'Moses,'  after  the  boy  in  the  'Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  which 
was  corrupted  into  Boses  and  Boz.  An  'Evening  Chronicle,' 
as  an  appendix  to  the  'Morning  Chronicle,'  was  started  in  1835 
under  the  management  of  George  Hogarth,  formerly  a  friend  of 
Scott.  The  'Monthly  Magazine'  was  unable  to  pay  for  the 


THE   LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  573 

sketches,  and  Dickens  now  offered  to  continue  his  sketches  in  the 
new  venture.  His  offer  was  accepted,  and  his  salary  raised  from 
five  to  seven  guineas  a  week.  In  the  spring  of  1836  the  collected 
papers  were  published  as  'Sketches  by  Boz,'  with  illustrations 
by  Cruikshank,  the  copyright  being  bought  for  i5o/.  by  a  pub- 
lisher named  Macrone.  On  2  April  1836  Dickens  married  Cath- 
erine, eldest  daughter  of  Hogarth,  his  colleague  on  the  'Morning 
Chronicle.'  He  had  just  begun  the  'Pickwick  Papers.'  The 
'Sketches,'  in  which  it  is  now  easy  to  see  the  indications  of  future 
success,  had  attracted  some  notice  in  their  original  form.  Albany 
Fonblanque  had  warmly  praised  them,  and  publishers  heard  of  the 
young  writer.  Messrs.  Chapman  &  Hall,  then  beginning  business, 
had  published  a  book  called  'The  Squib  Annual'  in  November 
1835,  with  illustrations  by  Seymour.  Seymour  was  anxious  to 
produce  a  series  of  'cockney  sporting  plates.'  Chapman  &  Hall 
thought  that  it  might  answer  to  publish  such  a  series  in  monthly 
parts  accompanied  by  letterpress.  Hall  applied  to  Dickens, 
suggesting  the  invention  of  a  Nimrod  Club,  the  members  of  which 
should  get  into  comic  difficulties  suitable  for  Seymour's  illustra- 
tions. Dickens,  wishing  for  a  freer  hand,  and  having  no  special 
knowledge  of  sport,  substituted  the  less  restricted  scheme  of  the 
Pickwick  Club,  and  wrote  the  first  number,  for  which  Seymour 
drew  the  illustrations.  The  first  two  or  three  numbers  excited  less 
attention  than  the  collected  'Sketches,'  which  had  just  appeared. 
Seymour  killed  himself  before  the  appearance  of  the  second  num- 
ber. Robert  William  Buss  [q.  v.]  illustrated  the  third  number. 
Thackeray,  then  an  unknown  youth,  applied  to  Dickens  for  the 
post  of  illustrator;  but  Dickens  finally  chose  Hablot  Knight 
Browne  [q.  v.],  who  illustrated  the  fourth  and  all  the  subsequent 
numbers,  as  well  as  many  of  the  later  novels. 

The  success  of  'Pickwick'  soon  became  extraordinary.  The 
binder  prepared  four  hundred  copies  of  the  first  number,  and  forty 
thousand  of  the  fifteenth.  The  marked  success  began  with  the 
appearance  of  Sam  Weller  in  the  fifth  number.  Sam  Weller  is  in 
fact  the  incarnation  of  the  qualities  to  which  the  success  was  due. 
Educated  like  his  creator  in  the  streets  of  London,  he  is  the  ideal 
cockney.  His  exuberant  animal  spirits,  humorous  shrewdness, 
and  kindliness  under  a  mask  of  broad  farce,  made  him  the  favourite 


574  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

of  all  cockneys  in  and  out  of  London,  and  took  the  gravest  readers 
by  storm.  All  that  Dickens  had  learnt  in  his  rough  initiation  into 
life,  with  a  power  of  observation  unequalled  in  its  way,  was  poured 
out  with  boundless  vivacity  and  prodigality  of  invention.  The 
book,  beginning  as  farce,  became  admirable  comedy,  and  has 
caused  more  hearty  and  harmless  laughter  than  any  book  in  the 
language.  If  Dickens's  later  works  surpassed  'Pickwick'  in 
some  ways,  'Pickwick'  shows,  in  their  highest  development,  the 
qualities  in  which  he  most  surpassed  other  writers.  Sam  Weller's 
peculiar  trick  of  speech  has  been  traced  with  probability  to  Samuel 
Vale,  a  popular  comic  actor,  who  in  1822  performed  Simon  Spat- 
terdash  in  a  farce  called  'The  Boarding  House,'  and  gave  cur- 
rency to  a  similar  phraseology  (Notes  and  Queries,  6th  ser.  v. 
388 ;  and  Origin  of  Sam  Weller,  with  a  facsimile  of  a  contemporary 
piratical  imitation  of  'Pickwick,'  1883). 

Dickens  was  now  a  prize  for  which  publishers  might  contend. 
In  the  next  few  years  he  undertook  a  great  deal  of  work,  with  con- 
fidence natural  to  a  buoyant  temperament,  encouraged  by  unprec- 
edented success,  and  achieved  new  triumphs  without  permitting 
himself  to  fall  into  slovenly  composition.  Each  new  book  was 
at  least  as  carefully  written  as  its  predecessor.  'Pickwick'  ap- 
peared from  April  1836  to  November  1837.  'Oliver  Twist' 
began,  while  'Pickwick'  was  still  proceeding,  in  January  1837, 
and  ran  till  March  1839.  'Nicholas  Nickleby'  overlapped 
'Oliver  Twist,'  beginning  in  April  1838  and  ending  in  October 
1839.  In  February  1838  Dickens  went  to  Yorkshire  to  look  at  the 
schools  caricatured  in  Dotheboys  Hall  (for  the  original  of  Dothe- 
boys  Hall  see  Notes  and  Queries,  4th  ser.  vi.  245,  and  5th  ser.  iii. 
325).  A  short  pause  followed.  Dickens  had  thought  of  a  series 
of  papers,  more  or  less  on  the  model  of  the  old  'Spectator,'  in 
which  there  was  to  be  a  club,  including  the  Wellers,  varied  essays 
satirical  and  descriptive,  and  occasional  stories.  The  essays  were 
to  appear  weekly,  and  for  the  whole  he  finally  selected  the  title 
'Master  Humphrey's  Clock.'  The  plan  was  carried  out  with 
modifications.  It  appeared  at  once  that  the  stories  were  the  pop- 
ular part  of  the  series ;  the  club  and  the  intercalated  essay  disap- 
peared, and  'Master  Humphrey's  Clock'  resolved  itself  into  the 
two  stories,  'The  Old  Curiosity  Shop'  and  'Barnaby  Rudge.' 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  575 

During  1840  and  1841  'Oliver  Twist'  seems  to  have  been  at  first 
less  popular  than  its  fellow-stories;  but  'Nicholas  Nickleby' 
surpassed  even  'Pickwick.'  Sydney  Smith  on  reading  it  con- 
fessed that  Dickens  had  'conquered  him,'  though  he  had  'stood 
out  as  long  as  he  could.'  'Master  Humphrey's  Clock'  began 
with  a  sale  of  seventy  thousand  copies,  which  declined  when  there 
was  no  indication  of  a  continuous  story,  but  afterwards  revived. 
The  'Old  Curiosity  Shop,'  as  republished,  made  an  extraordinary 
success.  'Barnaby  Rudge'  has  apparently  never  been  equally 
popular. 

The  exuberant  animal  spirits,  and  the  amazing  fertility  in  creaj;- 
ing  comic  types,  which  made  the  fortune  of  'Pickwick,'  were  now 
combined  with  a  more  continuous  story.  The  ridicule  of  'Bum- 
bledom' in  'Oliver  Twist,'  and  of  Yorkshire  schools  in  'Nicholas 
Nickleby,'  showed  the  power  of  satirical  portraiture  already  dis- 
played in  the  prison  scenes  of  'Pickwick.'  The  humorist  is  not 
yet  lost  in  the  satirist,  and  the  extravagance  of  the  caricature  is 
justified  by  its  irresistible  fun.  Dickens  was  also  showing  the 
command  of  the  pathetic  which  fascinated  the  ordinary  reader. 
The  critic  is  apt  to  complain  that  Dickens  kills  his  children  as  if 
he  liked  it,  and  makes  his  victims  attitudinise  before  the  foot- 
lights. Yet  Landor,  a  severe  critic,  thought  'Little  Nell'  equal 
to  any  character  in  fiction,  and  Jeffrey,  the  despiser  of  sentimen- 
talism,  declared  that  there  had  been  nothing  so  good  since  Cordelia 
(FORSTER,  i.  177,  226).  Dickens  had  written  with  sincere  feeling, 
and  with  thoughts  of  Mary  Hogarth,  his  wife's  sister,  whose  death 
in  1837  had  profoundly  affected  him,  and  forced  him  to  suspend 
the  publication  of  'Pickwick'  (no  number  was  published  in 
June  1837).  When  we  take  into  account  the  command  of  the 
horrible  shown  by  the  murder  in  'Oliver  Twist,'  and  the  unvary- 
ing vivacity  and  brilliance  of  style,  the  secret  of  Dickens 's  hold  upon 
his  readers  is  tolerably  clear.  'Barnaby  Rudge'  is  remarkable 
as  an  attempt  at  the  historical  novel,  repeated  only  in  his  'Tale 
of  Two  Cities ' ;  b'ut  Dickens  takes  little  pains  to  give  genuine  local 
colour,  and  appears  to  have  regarded  the  eighteenth  century  chiefly 
as  the  reign  of  Jack  Ketch. 

Dickens's  fame  had  attracted  acquaintances,  many  of  whom 
were  converted  by  his  genial  qualities  into  fast  friends.  In  March 


576  SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

1837  he  moved  from  the  chambers  in  Furnival's  Inn,  which  he  had 
occupied  for  some  time  previous  to  his  marriage,  to  48  Doughty 
Street,  and  towards  the  end  of  1839  he  moved  to  a  'handsome 
house  with  a  considerable  garden'  in  Devonshire  Terrace,  facing 
York  Gate,  Regent's  Park.  He  spent  summer  holidays  at  Broad- 
stairs,  always  a  favourite  watering-place,  Twickenham,  and  Peters- 
ham, and  in  the  summer  of  1841  made  an  excursion  in  Scotland, 
received  the  freedom  of  Edinburgh,  and  was  welcomed  at  a  public 
dinner  where  Jeffrey  took  the  chair  and  his  health  was  proposed  by 
Christopher  North.  He  was  at  this  time  fond  of  long  rides,  and 
delighted  in  boyish  games.  His  buoyant  spirit  and  hearty  good- 
nature made  him  a  charming  host  and  guest  at  social  gatherings 
of  all  kinds  except  the  formal.  He  speedily  became  known  to 
most  of  his  literary  contemporaries,  such  as  Landor  (whom  he 
visited  at  Bath  in  1841),  Talfourd,  Procter,  Douglas  Jerrold, 
Harrison  Ainsworth,  Wilkie,  and  Edwin  Landseer.  His  closest 
intimates  were  Macready,  Maclise,  Stanfield,  and  John  Forster. 
Forster  had  seen  him  at  the  office  of  the  'True  Son,'  and  had 
afterwards  met  him  at  the  house  of  Harrison  Ainsworth.  They 
had  become  intimate  at  the  time  of  Mary  Hogarth's  death,  when 
Forster  visited  him,  on  his  temporary  retirement,  at  Hampstead. 
Forster,  whom  he  afterwards  chose  as  his  biographer,  was  service- 
able both  by  reading  his  works  before  publication  and  by  helping 
his  business  arrangements. 

Dickens  made  at  starting  some  rash  agreements.  Chapman  & 
Hall  had  given  him  15^.  155.  a  number  for  'Pickwick,'  with  ad- 
ditional payments  dependent  upon  the  sale.  He  received,  Forster 
thinks,  2,5oo/.  on  the  whole.  He  had  also,  with  Chapman  &  Hall, 
rebought  for  2,ooo/.  in  1837  the  copyright  of  the  'Sketches'  sold 
to  Macrone  in  1831  for  1507.  The  success  of  'Pickwick'  had 
raised  the  value  of  the  book,  and  Macrone  proposed  to  reissue  it 
simultaneously  with  'Pickwick'  and  'Oliver  Twist.'  Dickens 
thought  that  this  superabundance  would  be  injurious  to  his  repu- 
tation, and  naturally  considered  Macrone  to  be  extortionate. 
When,  however,  Macrone  died,  two  years  later,  Dickens  edited  the 
'Pic-Nic  Papers'  (1841)  for  the  benefit  of  the  widow,  contributing 
the  preface  and  a  story,  which  was  made  out  of  his  farce  'The 
Lamplighter.'  In  November  1837  Chapman  &  Hall  agreed  that 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  577 

he  should  have  a  share  after  five  years  in  the  copyright  of  '  Pick- 
wick,' on  condition  that  he  should  write  a  similar  book,  for  which 
he  was  to  receive  3,ooo/.,  besides  having  the  whole  copyright  after 
five  years.  Upon  the  success  of  '  Nicholas  Nickleby,'  written 
in  fulfilment  of  this  agreement,  the  publishers  paid  him  an  addi- 
tional i,5oo/.  in  consideration  of  a  further  agreement,  carried  out 
by  'Master  Humphrey's  Clock.'  Dickens  was  to  receive  5o/. 
for  each  weekly  number,  and  to  have  half  the  profits ;  the  copy- 
right to  be  equally  shared  after  five  years.  He  had  meanwhile 
agreed  with  Richard  Bentley  (1794-1871)  [q.  v.]  (22  Aug.  1836) 
to  edit  a  new  magazine  from  January  1837,  to  which  he  was  to 
supply  a  story;  and  had  further  agreed  to  write  two  other  stories 
for  the  same  publisher.  *  Oliver  Twist'  appeared  in  'Bentley's 
Miscellany'  in  accordance  with  the  first  agreement,  and,  on  the 
conclusion  of  the  story,  he  handed  over  the  editorship  to  Harrison 
Ainsworth.  In  September  1837,  after  some  misunderstandings, 
it  was  agreed  to  abandon  one  of  the  novels  promised  to  Bentley, 
Dickens  undertaking  to  finish  the  other,  'Barnaby  Rudge,' 
by  November  1838.  In  June  1840  Dickens  bought  the  copyright 
of  'Oliver  Twist'  from  Bentley  for  2,2507.,  and  the  agreement  for 
'Barnaby  Rudge'  was  cancelled.  Dickens  then  sold  'Barnaby 
Rudge'  to  Chapman  &  Hall,  receiving  3,ooo/.  for  the  use  of  the 
copyright  until  six  months  after  the  publication  of  the  last  number. 
The  close  of  this  series  of  agreements  freed  him  from  conflicting 
and  harassing  responsibilities. 

The  weekly  appearance  of  'Master  Humphrey's  Clock'  had 
imposed  a  severe  strain.  He  agreed  in  August  1841  to  write  a  new 
novel  in  the  'Pickwick'  form,  for  which  he  was  to  receive  2oo/. 
a  month  for  twenty  numbers,  besides  three-fourths  of  the  profits. 
He  stipulated,  however,  in  order  to  secure  the  much-needed  rest, 
that  it  should  not  begin  until  November  1842.  During  the  pre- 
vious twelve  months  he  was  to  receive  1507.  a  month,  to  be  de- 
ducted from  his  share  of  the  profits.  When  first  planning  '  Master 
Humphrey's  Clock,'  he  had  talked  of  visiting  America  to  obtain 
materials  for  descriptive  papers.  The  publication  of  the  'Old 
Curiosity  Shop'  had  brought  him  a  letter  from  Washington 
Irving;  his  fame  had  spread  beyond  the  Atlantic,  and  he  resolved 
to  spend  part  of  the  interval  before  his  next  book  in  the  United 

2P 


578  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

States.  He  had  a  severe  illness  in  the  autumn  of  1841 ;  he  had  to 
undergo  a  surgical  operation,  and  was  saddened  by  the  sudden 
death  of  his  wife's  brother  and  mother.  He  sailed  from  Liverpool 
4  Jan.  1842.  He  reached  Boston  on  21  Jan.  1842,  and  travelled 
by  New  York  and  Philadelphia  to  Washington  and  Richmond. 
Returning  to  Baltimore,  he  started  for  the  west,  and  went  by  Pitts- 
burg  and  Cincinnati  to  St.  Louis.  He  returned  to  Cincinnati, 
and  by  the  end  of  April  was  at  the  falls  of  Niagara.  He  spent  a 
month  in  Canada,  performing  in  some  private  theatricals  at  Mon- 
treal, and  sailed  for  England  about  the  end  of  May.  The  Ameri- 
cans received  him  with  an  enthusiasm  which  was  at  times  over- 
powering, but  which  was  soon  mixed  with  less  agreeable  feelings. 
Dickens  had  come  prepared  to  advocate  international  copyright, 
though  he  emphatically  denied,  in  answer  to  an  article  by  James 
Spedding  in  the  'Edinburgh  Review'  for  January  1843,  tnat  ne 
had  gone  as  a  'missionary'  in  that  cause.  His  speeches  on  this 
subject  met  with  little  response,  and  the  general  opinion  was  in 
favour  of  continuing  to  steal.  As  a  staunch  abolitionist  he  was 
shocked  by  the  sight  of  slavery,  and  disgusted  by  the  general  desire 
in  the  free  states  to  suppress  any  discussion  of  the  dangerous  topic. 
To  the  average  Englishman  the  problem  seemed  a  simple  question 
of  elementary  morality.  Dickens's  judgment  of  America  was  in 
fact  that  of  the  average  Englishman,  whose  radicalism  increased  his 
disappointment  at  the  obvious  weaknesses  of  the  republic.  He 
differed  from  ordinary  observers  only  in  the  decisiveness  of  his 
utterances  and  in  the  astonishing  vivacity  of  his  impressions. 
The  Americans  were  still  provincial  enough  to  fancy  that  the  first 
impressions  of  a  young  novelist  were  really  of  importance.  Their 
serious  faults  and  the  superficial  roughness  of  the  half-settled  dis- 
tricts thoroughly  disgusted  him ;  and  though  he  strove  hard  to  do 
justice  to  their  good  qualities,  it  is  clear  that  he  returned  disillu- 
sioned and  heartily  disliking  the  country.  The  feeling  is  still 
shown  in  his  antipathy  to  the  northern  states  during  the  war 
(Letters,  ii.  203,  240).  In  the  'American  Notes,'  published  in 
October  1842,  he  wrote  under  constraint  upon  some  topics,  but 
gave  careful  accounts  of  the  excellent  institutions,  which  are  the 
terror  of  the  ordinary  tourist  in  America.  Four  large  editions  were 
sold  by  the  end  of  the  year,  and  the  book  produced  a  good  deal  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  579 

resentment.  When  Macready  visited  America  in  the  autumn  of 
1843,  Dickens  refused  to  accompany  him  to  Liverpool,  thinking 
that  the  actor  would  be  injured  by  any  indications  of  friendship 
with  the  author  of  the  *  Notes'  and  of  'Martin  Chuzzlewit.' 
The  first  of  the  twenty  monthly  numbers  of  this  novel  appeared  in 
January  1843.  The  book  shows  Dickens  at  his  highest  power. 
Whether  it  has  done  much  to  enforce  its  intended  moral,  that  self- 
ishness is  a  bad  thing,  may  be  doubted.  But  the  humour  and  the 
tragic  power  are  undeniable.  Pecksniff  and  Mrs.  Gamp  at  once 
became  recognised  types  of  character,  and  the  American  scenes, 
revealing  Dickens's  real  impressions,  are  perhaps  the  most  sur- 
prising proof  of  his  unequalled  power  of  seizing  characteristics  at 
a  glance.  Yet  for  some  reason  the  sale  was  comparatively  small, 
never  exceeding  twenty-three  thousand  copies,  as  against  the 
seventy-thousand  of  'Master  Humphrey's  Clock.' 

After  Dickens's  return  to  England,  his  sister-in-law,  Miss 
Georgina  Hogarth,  became,  as  she  remained  till  his  death,  an  in- 
mate of  his  household.  He  made  an  excursion  to  Cornwall  in 
the  autumn  of  1842  with  Maclise,  Stanfield,  and  Forster,  in  the 
highest  spirits,  'choking  and  gasping,  and  bursting  the  buckle 
off  the  back  of  his  stock  (with  laughter)  all  the  way.'  He  spent 
his  summers  chiefly  at  Broadstairs,  and  took  a  leading  part  in 
many  social  gatherings  and  dinners  to  his  friends.  He  showed 
also  a  lively  interest  in  benevolent  enterprises,  especially  in  ragged 
schools.  In  this  and  similar  work  he  was  often  associated  with 
Miss  Coutts,  afterwards  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts,  and  in  later 
years  he  gave  much  time  to  the  management  of  a  house  for  fallen 
women  established  by  her  in  Shepherd's  Bush.  He  was  always 
ready  to  throw  himself  heartily  into  any  philanthropic  movement, 
and  rather  slow  to  see  any  possibility  of  honest  objection.  His 
impatience  of  certain  difficulties  about  the  ragged  schools  raised 
by  clergymen  of  the  established  church  led  him  for  a  year  or  two 
to  join  the  congregation  of  a  Unitarian  minister,  Mr.  Edward 
Tagart.  For  the  rest  of  his  life  his  sympathies,  we  are  told,  were 
chiefly  with  the  church  of  England,  as  the  least  sectarian  of  reli- 
gious bodies,  and  he  seems  to  have  held  that  every  dissenting  min- 
ister was  a  Stiggins.  It  is  curious  that  the  favourite  author  of  the 
middle  classes  should  have  been  so  hostile  to  their  favourite  form 
of  belief. 


580  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

The  relatively  small  sale  of  '  Chuzzlewit '  led  to  difficulties  with 
his  publishers.  The  '  Christmas  Carol '  which  appeared  at  Christ- 
mas 1843,  was  the  first  of  five  similar  books  which  have  been  enor- 
mously popular,  as  none  of  his  books  give  a  more  explicit  state- 
ment of  what  he  held  to  be  the  true  gospel  of  the  century.  He 
was,  however,  greatly  disappointed  with  the  commercial  results. 
Fifteen  thousand  copies  were  sold,  and  brought  him  only  y26/., 
a  result  apparently  due  to  the  too  costly  form  in  which  they  were 
published.  Dickens  expressed  a  dissatisfaction,  which  resulted 
in  a  breach  with  Messrs.  Chapman  &  Hall  and  an  agreement 
with  Messrs.  Bradbury  &  Evans,  who  were  to  advance  2,8oo/. 
and  have  a  fourth  share  of  all  his  writings  for  the  next  eight  years. 
Dickens's  irritation  under  these  worries  stimulated  his  character- 
istic restlessness.  He  had  many  claims  to  satisfy.  His  family 
was  rapidly  increasing;  his  fifth  child  was  born  at  the  beginning  of 
1844.  Demands  from  more  distant  relations  were  also  frequent, 
and  though  he  received  what,  for  an  author,  was  a  very  large  income 
he  thought  that  he  had  worked  chiefly  for  the  enrichment  of  others. 
He  also  felt  the  desire  to  obtain  wider  experience  natural  to  one 
who  had  been  drawing  so  freely  upon  his  intellectual  resources. 
He  resolved,  therefore,  to  economise  and  refresh  his  mind  in  Italy. 

Before  starting  he  presided,  in  February  1844,  at  the  meetings 
of  the  Mechanics'  Institution  in  Liverpool  and  the  Polytechnic  in 
Birmingham.  He  wrote  some  radical  articles  in  the  'Morning 
Chronicle.'  After  the  usual  farewell  dinner  at  Greenwich,  where 
J.  M.  W.  Turner  attended  and  Lord  Normanby  took  the  chair, 
he  started  for  Italy,  reaching  Marseilles  14  July  1844.  On  16  July 
he  settled  in  a  villa  at  Albaro,  a  suburb  of  Genoa,  and  set  to  work 
learning  Italian.  He  afterwards  moved  to  the  Peschiere  Palace 
in  Genoa.  There,  though  missing  his  long  night  walks  in  London 
streets,  he  wrote  the  'Chimes,'  and  came  back  to  London  to  read 
it  to  his  friends.  He  started  6  Nov.,  travelled  through  Northern 
Italy,  and  reached  London  at  the  end  of  the  month.  He  read  the 
'Chimes'  at  Forster's  house  to  Carlyle,  Stanfield,  Maclise,  La- 
man  Blanchard,  Douglas  Jerrold,  Fox,  Harness,  and  Dyce.  He 
then  returned  to  Genoa.  In  the  middle  of  January  he  started 
with  his  wife  on  a  journey  to  Rome,  Naples,  and  Florence.  He 
returned  to  Genoa  for  two  months,  and  then  crossed  to  St.  Goth- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  581 

ard,  and  returned  to  England  at  the  end  of  June  1845.  On  coming 
home  he  took  up  a  scheme  for  a  private  theatrical  performance, 
which  had  been  started  on  the  night  of  reading  the  'Chimes.' 
He  threw  himself  into  this  with  his  usual  vigour.  Jonson's  '  Every 
Man  in  his  Humour'  was  performed  on  21  Sept.  at  Fanny  Kelly's 
theatre  in  Dean  Street.  Dickens  took  the  part  of  Bobadil,  Forster 
appearing  as  Kitely,  Jerrold  as  Master  Stephen,  and  Leech  as 
Master  Matthew.  The  play  succeeded  to  admiration,  and  a 
public  performance  was  afterwards  given  for  a  charity.  Dickens 
is  said  by  Forster  to  have  been  a  very  vivid  and  versatile  rather  than 
a  finished  actor,  but  an  inimitable  manager.  His  contributions 
to  the  '  Morning  Chronicle '  seem  to  have  suggested  his  next  under- 
taking, the  only  one  in  which  he  can  be  said  to  have  decidedly 
failed.  He  became  first  editor  of  the  'Daily  News,'  the  first 
number  of  which  appeared  21  Jan.  1846.  He  had  not  the  neces- 
sary qualifications  for  the  function  of  editor  of  a  political  organ. 
On  9  Feb.  he  resigned  his  post,  to  which  Forster  succeeded  for  a 
time.  He  continued  to  contribute  for  about  three  months  longer, 
publishing  a  series  of  letters  descriptive  of  his  Italian  journeys. 
His  most  remarkable  contribution  was  a  series  of  letters  on  capital 
punishment.  (For  the  fullest  account  of  his  editorship  see  WARD, 
pp.  68,  74.)  He  then  gave  up  the  connection,  resolving  to  pass  the 
next  twelve  months  in  Switzerland,  and  there  to  write  another 
book  on  the  old  model.  He  left  England  on  31  May,  having  pre- 
viously made  a  rather  singular  overture  to  government  for  an  ap- 
pointment to  the  paid  magistracy  of  London,  and  having  also 
taken  a  share  in  starting  the  General  Theatrical  Fund.  He 
reached  Lausanne  n  June  1846,  and  took  a  house  called  Rose- 
mont.  Here  he  enjoyed  the  scenery  and  surrounded  himself  with 
a  circle  of  friends,  some  of  whom  became  his  intimates  through 
life.  He  specially  liked  the  Swiss  people.  He  now  began  'Dom- 
bey,'  and  worked  at  it  vigorously,  though  feeling  occasionally 
his  oddly  characteristic  craving  for  streets.  The  absence  of 
streets  'worried'  him  'in  a  most  singular  manner,'  and  he  was 
harassed  by  having  on  hand  both  'Dombey'  and  his  next  Christ- 
mas book,  'The  Battle  of  Life.'  For  a  partial  remedy  of  the  first 
evil  he  made  a  short  stay  at  Geneva  at  the  end  of  September. 
The  'Battle  of  Life'  was  at  last  completed,  and  he  was  cheered 


582  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

by  the  success  of  the  first  numbers  of  'Dombey.'  In  November 
he  started  for  Paris,  where  he  stayed  for  three  months.  He  made 
a  visit  to  London  in  December,  when  he  arranged  for  a  cheap  issue 
of  his  writings,  which  began  in  the  following  year.  He  was  finally 
brought  back  to  England  by  an  illness  of  his  eldest  son,  then  at 
King's  College  School.  His  house  in  Devonshire  Terrace  was  still 
let  to  a  tenant,  and  he  did  not  return  there  until  September  1847. 
'Dombey  and  Son'  had  a  brilliant  success.  The  first  five  num- 
bers, with  the  death,  truly  or  falsely  pathetic,  of  Paul  Dombey, 
were  among  his  most  striking  pieces  of  work,  and  the  book  has 
had  great  popularity,  though  it  afterwards  took  him  into  the  kind 
of  social  satire  in  which  he  was  always  least  successful.  For  the 
first  half-year  he  received  nearly  3,ooo/.,  and  henceforth  his  pe- 
cuniary affairs  were  prosperous  and  savings  began.  He  found  time 
during  its  completion  for  gratifying  on  a  large  scale  his  passion  for 
theatrical  performances.  In  1847  a  scheme  was  started  for  the 
benefit  of  Leigh  Hunt.  Dickens  became  manager  of  a  company 
which  performed  Jonson's  comedy  at  Manchester  and  Liverpool 
in  July  1847,  and  added  four  hundred  guineas  to  the  benefit  fund. 
In  1848  it  was  proposed  to  buy  Shakespeare's  house  at  Stratford- 
on-Avon  and  to  endow  a  curatorship  to  be  held  by  Sheridan 
Knowles.  Though  this  part  of  the  scheme  dropped,  the  projected 
performances  were  given  for  Knowles's  benefit.  The  'Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,'  in  which  Dickens  played  Shallow,  Lemon 
Falstaff,  and  Forster  Master  Ford,  was  performed  at  Manchester, 
Liverpool,  Edinburgh,  Birmingham,  and  Glasgow,  the  gross 
profits  from  nine  nights  being  2,5517.  In  November  1850  'Every 
Man  in  his  Humour'  was  again  performed  at  Knebworth,  Lord 
Lytton's  house.  The  scheme  for  a  'Guild  of  Literature  and  Art' 
was  suggested  at  Knebworth.  In  aid  of  the  funds,  a  comedy  by 
Lytton,  'Not  so  bad  as  we  seem,'  and  a  farce  by  Dickens  and 
Lemon,  'Mr.  Nightingale's  Diary,'  were  performed  at  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire's  house  in  London  (27  May  1851),  when  the  queen 
and  prince  consort  were  present.  Similar  performances  took 
place  during  1851  and  1852  at  various  towns,  ending  with  Man- 
chester and  Liverpool.  A  dinner,  with  Lytton  in  the  chair,  at 
Manchester  had  a  great  success,  and  the  guild  was  supposed  to  be 
effectually  started.  It  ultimately  broke  down,  though  Dickens  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  583 

Bulwer  Lytton  were  enthusiastic  supporters.  During  this  period 
Dickens  had  been  exceedingly  active.  The  'Haunted  Man  or 
Ghostly  Bargain,'  the  idea  of  which  had  occurred  to  him  at 
Lausanne,  was  now  written  and  published  with  great  success  at 
Christmas  1848.  He  then  began  'David  Copperfield,'  in  many 
respects  the  most  satisfactory  of  his  novels,  and  especially  remark- 
able for  the  autobiographical  element,  which  is  conspicuous  in  so 
many  successful  fictions.  It  contains  less  of  the  purely  farcical 
or  of  the  satirical  caricature  than  most  of  his  novels,  and  shows 
his  literary  genius  mellowed  by  age  without  loss  of  spontaneous 
vigour.  It  appeared  monthly  from  May  1849  to  November  1850. 
The  sale  did  not  exceed  twenty-five  thousand  copies ;  but  the  book 
made  its  mark.  He  was  now  accepted  by  the  largest  class  of 
readers  as  the  undoubted  leader  among  English  novelists.  While 
it  was  proceeding  he  finally  gave  shape  to  a  plan  long  contemplated 
for  a  weekly  journal.  It  was  announced  at  the  close  of  1849,  when 
Mr.  W.  H.  Wills  was  selected  as  sub-editor,  and  continued  to  work 
with  him  until  compelled  to  retire  by  ill-health  in  1868.  After 
many  difficulties,  the  felicitous  name,  'Household  Words,'  was 
at  last  selected,  and  the  first  number  appeared  30  March  1849, 
with  the  beginning  of  a  story  by  Mrs.  Gaskell.  During  the  rest 
of  his  life  Dickens  gave  much  of  his  energy  to  this  journal  and  its 
successor,  'All  the  Year  Round.'  He  gathered  many  contribu- 
tors, several  of  whom  became  intimate  friends.  He  spared  no 
pains  in  his  editorial  duty;  he  frequently  amended  his  contribu- 
tors' work  and  occasionally  inserted  passages  of  his  own.  He 
was  singularly  quick  and  generous  in  recognising  and  encouraging 
talent  in  hitherto  unknown  writers.  Many  of  the  best  of  his  minor 
essays  appeared  in  its  pages.  Dickens's  new  relation  to  his 
readers  helped  to  extend  the  extraordinary  popularity  which  con- 
tinued to  increase  during  his  life.  On  the  other  hand,  the  excessive 
strain  which  it  involved  soon  began  to  tell  seriously  upon  his 
strength.  In  1848  he  had  been  much  grieved  by  the  loss  of  his 
elder  sister  Fanny.  On  31  March  1851  his  father,  for  whom  in 
1839  he  had  taken  a  house  in  Exeter,  died  at  Malvern.  Dickens, 
after  attending  his  father's  death,  returned  to  town  and  took  the 
chair  at  the  dinner  of  the  General  Theatrical  Fund  14  April  1851. 
After  his  speech  he  was  told  of  the  sudden  death  of  his  infant 


584  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

daughter,  Dora  Annie  (born  16  Aug.  1850).  Dickens  left  Devon- 
shire Terrace  soon  afterwards,  and  moved  into  Tavistock  House, 
Tavistock  Square.  Here,  in  November  1851,  he  began  'Bleak 
House,'  which  was  published  from  March  1852  to  September 
1853.  It  was  followed  by  'Hard  Times,'  which  appeared  in 
'Household  Words'  between  i  April  and  12  Aug.  1854;  and  by 
'Little  Dorrit,'  which  appeared  in  monthly  numbers  from  Jan- 
uary 1856  to  June  1857.  Forster  thinks  that  the  first  evidences 
of  excessive  strain  appeared  during  the  composition  of  'Bleak 
House.'  'The  spring,'  says  Dickens,  'does  not  seem  to  fly  back 
again  directly,  as  it  always  did  when  I  put  my  own  work  aside  and 
had  nothing  else  to  do.'  The  old  buoyancy  of  spirit  is  decreasing; 
the  humour  is  often  forced  and  the  mannerism  more  strongly 
marked;  the  satire  against  the  court  of  chancery,  the  utilitarians, 
and  the  'circumlocution  office7  is  not  relieved  by  the  irresistible 
fun  of  the  former  caricatures,  nor  strengthened  by  additional 
insight.  It  is  superficial  without  being  good-humoured.  Dickens 
never  wrote  carelessly;  he  threw  his  whole  energy  into  every  task 
which  he  undertook ;  and  the  undeniable  vigour  of  his  books,  the 
infallible  instinct  with  which  he  gauged  the  taste  of  his  readers, 
not  less 'than  his  established  reputation,  gave  him  an  increasing 
popularity.  The  sale  of  'Bleak  House  '  exceeded  thirty  thou- 
sand; 'Hard  Times'  doubled  the  circulation  of  'Household 
Words;' and  'Little  Dorrit'  'beat  even  "Bleak  House"  out  of  the 
field ; '  thirty-five  thousand  copies  of  the  second  number  were  sold. 
'Bleak  House'  contained  sketches  of  Landor  as  Lawrence  Boy- 
thorn,  and  of  Leigh  Hunt  as  Harold  Skimpole.  Dickens  defended 
himself  for  the  very  unpleasant  caricature  of  Hunt  in  'All  the 
Year  Round,'  after  Hunt's  death.  While  Hunt  was  still  living, 
Dickens  had  tried  to  console  him  by  explaining  away  the  likeness 
as  confined  to  the  flattering  part ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
he  gave  serious  ground  of  offence.  During  this  period  Dickens 
was  showing  signs  of  increasing  restlessness.  He  sought  relief 
from  his  labours  at  'Bleak  House'  by  spending  three  months  at 
Dover  in  the  autumn  of  1852.  In  the  beginning  of  1853  he  re- 
ceived a  testimonial  at  Birmingham,  and  undertook  in  return  to 
give  a  public  reading  at  Christmas  on  behalf  of  the  New  Midland 
Institute.  He  read  two  of  his  Christmas  books  and  made  a  great 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  585 

success.  He  was  induced,  after  some  hesitation,  to  repeat  the 
experiment  several  times  in  the  next  few  years.  The  summer 
of  1853  was  spent  at  Boulogne,  and  in  the  autumn  he  made  a  two 
months'  tour  through  Switzerland  and  Italy,  with  Mr.  Wilkie  Col- 
lins and  Augustus  Egg.  In  1854  and  1856  he  again  spent  sum- 
mers at  Boulogne,  gaining  materials  for  some  very  pleasant  de- 
scriptions; and  from  November  1855  to  May  1856  he  was  at  Paris, 
working  at  'Little  Dorrit.'  During  1855  he  found  time  to  take 
part  in  some  political  agitations. 

In  March  1856  Dickens  bought  Gadshill  Place.  When  a  boy 
at  Rochester  he  had  conceived  a  childish  aspiration  to  become  its 
owner.  On  hearing  that  it  was  for  sale  in  1855,  he  began  nego- 
tiations for  its  purchase.  He  bought  it  with  a  view  to  occasional 
occupation,  intending  to  let  it  in  the  intervals;  but  he  became 
attached  to  it,  spent  much  money  on  improving  it,  and  finally  in 
1860  sold  Tavistock  House  and  made  it  his  permanent  abode.  He 
continued  to  improve  it  till  the  end  of  his  life. 

In  the  winter  of  1856-7  Dickens  amused  himself  with  private 
theatricals  at  Tavistock  House,  and  after  the  death  of  Douglas 
Jerrold  (6  June  1857)  got  up  a  series  of  performances  for  the  bene- 
fit of  his  friend's  family,  one  of  which  was  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins 's 
'Frozen  Deep,'  also  performed  at  Tavistock  House.  For  the 
same  purpose  he  read  the  'Christmas  Carol'  at  St.  Martin's 
Hall  (30  June  1857),  with  a  success  which  led  him  to  carry  out  a 
plan,  already  conceived,  of  giving  public  readings  on  his  own 
account.  He  afterwards  made  an  excursion  with  Mr.  Wilkie 
Collins  in  the  north  of  England,  partly  described  in  'A  Lazy  Tour 
of  Two  Idle  Apprentices.' 

A  growing  restlessness  and  a  craving  for  any  form  of  distraction 
were  connected  with  domestic  unhappiness.  In  the  beginning  of 
1858  he  was  preparing  his  public  readings.  Some  of  his  friends 
objected,  but  he  decided  to  undertake  them,  partly,  it  would  seem, 
from  the  desire  to  be  fully  occupied.  He  gave  a  reading,  15  April 
1858,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Children's  Hospital  in  Great  Ormond 
Street,  in  which  he  was  keenly  interested,  and  on  29  April  gave  the 
first  public  reading  for  his  own  benefit.  This  was  immediately 
followed  by  the  separation  from  his  wife.  The  eldest  son  lived 
with  the  mother,  while  the  rest  of  the  children  remained  with 


586  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Dickens.  Carlyle,  mentioning  the  newspaper  reports  upon  this 
subject  to  Emerson,  says:  'Fact  of  separation,  I  believe,  is  true, 
but  all  the  rest  is  mere  lies  and  nonsense.  No  crime  and  no  mis- 
demeanor specifiable  on  either  side ;  unhappy  together,  these  two, 
good  many  years  past,  and  they  at  length  end  it'  (CARLYLE  AND 
EMERSON,  Correspondence,  ii.  269).  Dickens  chose  to  publish  a 
statement  himself  in  'Household  Words,'  12  June  1858.  He 
entrusted  another  and  far  more  indiscreet  letter  to  Mr.  Arthur 
Smith,  who  now  became  the  agent  for  his  public  readings,  which 
was  to  be  shown,  if  necessary,  in  his  defence.  It  was  published 
without  his  consent  in  the  'New  York  Tribune.'  The  impro- 
priety of  both  proceedings  needs  no  comment.  But  nothing  has 
been  made  public  which  would  justify  any  statement  as  to  the 
merits  of  the  question.  Dickens's  publication  in  'Household 
Words'  and  their  refusal  to  publish  the  same  account  in  '  Punch,' 
led  to  a  quarrel  with  his  publishers,  which  ended  in  his  giving  up  the 
paper.  He  began  an  exactly  similar  paper,  called  'All  the  Year 
Round'  (first  number  30  April  1859),  and  returned  to  his  old 
publishers,  Messrs.  Chapman  &  Hall.  Dickens  seems  to  have 
thought  that  some  public  statement  was  made  necessary  by  the 
quasi-public  character  which  he  now  assumed.  From  this  time 
his  readings  became  an  important  part  of  his  work.  They 
formed  four  series,  given  in  1858-9,  in  1861-3,  m  1866-7,  an(^ 
in  1868-70.  They  finally  killed  him,  and  it  is  impossible  not 
to  regret  that  he  should  have  spent  so  much  energy  in  an  enter- 
prise not  worthy  of  his  best  powers.  He  began  with  sixteen  nights 
at  St.  Martin's  Hall,  from  29  April  to  22  July  1858.  A  provincial 
tour  of  eighty-seven  readings  followed,  including  Ireland  and  Scot- 
land. He  gave  a  series  of  readings  in  London  in  the  beginning  of 
1859,  and  made  a  provincial  tour  in  October  following.  He  was 
everywhere  received  with  enthusiasm;  he  cleared  3oo/.  a  week 
before  reaching  Scotland,  and  in  Scotland  made  5oo/.  a  week. 
The  readings  were  from  the  Christmas  books,  'Pickwick,'  'Dom- 
bey,'  'Chuzzlewit,'  and  the  Christmas  numbers  of  'Household 
Words.'  The  Christmas  numbers  in  his  periodicals,  and  espe- 
cially in  'All  the  Year  Round,'  had  a  larger  circulation  than  any  of 
his  writings,  those  in  'All  the  Year  Round'  reaching  three  hun- 
dred thousand  copies.  Some  of  his  most  charming  papers  ap- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  587 

peared,  as  the  'Uncommercial  Traveller,'  in  the  last  periodical. 
For  his  short  story,  'Hunted  Down,'  first  printed  in  the  'New 
York  Ledger,'  afterwards  in  'All  the  Year  Round,'  he  received 
i,ooo/.  This  and  a  similar  sum,  paid  for  the  'Holiday  Romance' 
and  'George  Silverman's  Explanation'  in  a  child's  magazine 
published  by  Mr.  Fields  and  in  the  'Atlantic  Monthly,'  are 
mentioned  by  Forster  as  payments  unequalled  in  the  history  of 
literature. 

In  March  1861  he  began  a  second  series  of  readings  in  London, 
and  after  waiting  to  finish  '  Great  Expectations '  in  '  All  the  Year 
Round,'  he  made  another  tour  in  the  autumn  and  winter.  He 
read  again  in  St.  James's  Hall  in  the  spring  of  1862,  and  gave  some 
readings  at  Paris  in  January  1863.  The  success  was  enormous, 
and  he  had  an  offer  of  io,ooo/.,  'afterwards  raised,'  for  a  visit  to 
Australia.  He  hesitated  for  a  time,  but  the  plan  was  finally  aban- 
doned, and  America,  which  had  been  suggested,  was  closed  by 
the  civil  war.  For  a  time  he  returned  to  writing.  The  'Tale 
of  Two  Cities'  had  appeared  in  'All  the  Year  Round'  during  his 
first  series  of  readings  (April  to  November  1859).  'Great  Expec- 
tations' appeared  in  the  same  journal  from  December  1860  to 
August  1 86 1,  during  the  part  of  the  second  series.  He  now  set 
to  work  upon  'Our  Mutual  Friend,'  which  came  out  in  monthly 
numbers  from  May  1864  to  November  1865.  It  succeeded  with 
the  public ;  over  thirty  thousand  copies  of  the  first  number  were 
sold  at  starting,  and,  though  there  was  a  drop  in  the  sale  of  the 
second  number,  this  circulation  was  much  exceeded.  The  gloomy 
river  scenes  in  this  and  in  'Great  Expectations'  show  Dickens 's 
full  power,  but  both  stories  are  too  plainly  marked  by  flagging 
invention  and  spirits.  Forster  publishes  extracts  from  a  book  of 
memoranda  kept  from  1855  to  1865,  in  which  Dickens  first  began 
to  preserve  notes  for  future  work.  He  seems  to  have  felt  that  he 
could  no  longer  rely  upon  spontaneous  suggestions  of  the  moment. 

His  mother  died  in  September  1863,  and  his  son  Walter,  for 
whom  Miss  Coutts  had  obtained  a  cadetship  in  the  26th  native 
infantry,  died  at  Calcutta  on  31  Dec.  following. 

He  began  a  third  series  of  readings  under  ominous  symptoms. 
In  February  1865  he  had  a  severe  illness.  He  ever  afterwards 
suffered  from  a  lameness  in  his  left  foot,  which  gave  him  great  pain 


588  SIR  LESLIE   STEPHEN 

and  puzzled  his  physicians.  On  9  June  1865  he  was  in  a  terrible 
railway  accident  at  Staplehurst.  The  carriage  in  which  he 
travelled  left  the  line,  but  did  not,  with  others,  fall  over  the  via- 
duct. The  shock  to  his  nerves  was  great  and  permanent,  and  he 
exerted  himself  excessively  to  help  the  sufferers.  The  accident  is 
vividly  described  in  his  letters  (ii.  229-33).  I*1  spite  of  these  in- 
juries he  never  spared  himself;  after  sleepless  nights  he  walked 
distances  too  great  for  his  strength,  and  he  now  undertook  a  series 
of  readings  which  involved  greater  labour  than  the  previous  series. 
He  was  anxious  to  make  a  provision  for  his  large  family,  and, 
probably  conscious  that  his  strength  would  not  long  be  equal  to 
such  performances,  he  resolved,  as  Forster  says,  to  make  the  most 
money  possible  in  the  shortest  time  without  regard  to  labour. 
Dickens  was  keenly  affected  by  the  sympathy  of  his  audience, 
and  the  visible  testimony  to  his  extraordinary  popularity  and  to  his 
singular  dramatic  power  was  no  doubt  a  powerful  attraction  to  a 
man  who  was  certainly  not  without  vanity,  and  who  had  been  a 
popular  idol  almost  from  boyhood. 

After  finishing  'Our  Mutual  Friend,'  he  accepted  (in  February 
1866)  an  offer,  from  Messrs.  Chappell  of  Bond  Street,  of  50^.  a 
night  for  a  series  of  thirty  readings.  The  arrangements  made 
it  necessary  that  the  hours  not  actually  spent  at  the  reading-desk 
or  in  bed  should  be  chiefly  passed  in  long  railway  journeys.  He 
began  in  March  and  ended  in  June  1866.  In  August  he  made  a 
new  agreement  for  forty  nights  at  6ol.  a  night,  or  2,500^.  for  forty- 
two  nights.  These  readings  took  place  between  January  and 
May  1867.  The  success  of  the  readings  again  surpassed  all  prec- 
edent, and  brought  many  invitations  from  America.  Objections 
made  by  W.  H.  Wills  and  Forster  were  overruled.  Dickens  said 
that  he  must  go  at  once  if  he  went  at  all,  to  avoid  clashing  with  the 
presidential  election  of  1868.  He  thought  that  by  going  he  could 
realise  'a  sufficient  fortune.'  He  'did  not  want  money,'  but  the 
'likelihood  of  making  a  very  great  addition  to  his  capital  in  half 
a  year'  was  an  'immense  consideration.'  In  July  Mr.  Dolby 
sailed  to  America  as  his  agent.  An  inflammation  of  the  foot, 
followed  by  erysipelas,  gave  a  warning  which  was  not  heeded. 
On  i  Oct.  1867  he  telegraphed  his  acceptance  of  the  engagement, 
and  after  a  great  farewell  banquet  at  Freemasons'  Hall  (2  Nov.), 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  589 

at  which  Lord  Lytton  presided,  he  sailed  for  Boston  9  Nov.  1867, 
landing  on  the  igth. 

Americans  had  lost  some  of  their  provincial  sensibility,  and  were 
only  anxious  to  show  that  old  resentments  were  forgotten.  Dick- 
ens first  read  in  Boston  on  2  Dec. ;  thence  he  went  to  New  York ; 
he  read  afterwards  at  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Washington,  again 
at  Philadelphia,  Syracuse,  Rochester,  Buffalo,  Springfield,  Port- 
land, New  Bedford,  and  finally  at  Boston  and  New  York  again. 
He  received  a  public  dinner  at  New  York  (18  April),  and  reached 
England  in  the  first  week  of  May  1868.  He  made  nearly  2o,ooo/. 
in  America,  but  at  a  heavy  cost  in  health.  He  was  constantly 
on  the  verge  of  a  break  down.  He  naturally  complimented  Ameri- 
cans, not  only  for  their  generous  hospitality,  but  for  the  many 
social  improvements  since  his  previous  visits,  though  politically  he 
saw  little  to  admire.  He  promised  that  no  future  edition  of  his 
'Notes'  or  'Chuzzlewit'  should  be  issued  without  a  mention  of 
the  improvements  which  had  taken  place  in  America,  or  in  his  state 
of  mind.  As  a  kind  of  thank-offering,  he  had  a  copy  of  the  '  Old 
Curiosity  Shop'  printed  in  raised  letters,  and  presented  it  to  an 
American  asylum  for  the  blind. 

Unfortunately  Dickens  was  induced  upon  his  return  to  give  a 
final  series  of  readings  in  England.  He  was  to  receive  8,ooo/. 
for  a  hundred  readings.  They  began  in  October  1868.  Dickens 
had  preferred  as  a  novelty  a  reading  of  the  murder  in  *  Oliver 
Twist.'  He  had  thought  of  this  as  early  as  1863,  but  it  was  'so 
horrible '  that  he  was  then  '  afraid  to  try  it  in  public '  (Letters,  ii. 
200).  The  performance  was  regarded  by  Forster  as  in  itself 
'illegitimate,'  and  Forster's  protest  led  to  a  'painful  corre- 
spondence.' In  any  case,  it  involved  an  excitement  and  a  degree 
of  physical  labour  which  told  severely  upon  his  declining  strength. 
He  was  to  give  weekly  readings  in  London  alternately  with  read- 
ings in  the  country.  In  February  1869  he  was  forced  to  suspend 
his  work  under  medical  advice.  After  a  few  days'  rest  he  began 
again,  in  spite  of  remonstrances  from  his  friends  and  family. 
At  last  he  broke  down  at  Preston.  On  23  April  Sir  Thomas 
Watson  held  a  consultation  with  Mr.  Beard,  and  found  that  he 
had  been  'on  the  brink  of  an  attack  of  paralysis  of  his  left  side, 
and  possibly  of  apoplexy,'  due  to  overwork,  worry,  and  excite- 


590  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

ment.  He  was  ordered  to  give  up  his  readings,  though  after  some 
improvement  Sir  Thomas  consented  to  twelve  readings  without 
railway  travelling,  which  Dickens  was  anxious  to  give  as  some 
compensation  to  Messrs.  Chappell  for  their  disappointment.  In 
the  same  autumn  he  began  'Edwin  Drood.'  He  was  to  receive 
7,5oo/.  for  twenty-five  thousand  copies,  and  fifty  thousand  were 
sold  during  his  life.  It  'very,  very  far  outstripped  every  one 
of  its  predecessors'  (J.  T.  FIELDS,  p.  246).  He  passed  the  year 
at  Gadshill,  leaving  it  occasionally  to  attend  a  few  meetings,  and 
working  at  his  book.  His  last  readings  were  given  at  St.  James's 
Hall  from  January  to  March.  On  i  March  he  took  a  final 
leave  of  his  hearers  in  a  few  graceful  words.  In  April  appeared 
the  first  number  of  'Edwin  Drood.'  In  the  same  month  he 
appeared  for  the  last  time  in  public,  taking  the  chair  at  the 
newsvendors'  dinner,  and  replying  for  'literature'  at  the  dinner 
of  the  Royal  Academy  (30  April),  when  he  spoke  feelingly  of 
the  death  of  his  old  friend  Maclise.  He  was  at  work  upon  his 
novel  at  Gadshill  in  June,  and  showed  unusual  fatigue.  On 
8  June  he  was  working  in  the  'chalet'  which  had  been  presented 
to  him  in  1859  by  Fechter,  and  put  up  as  a  study  in  his  garden. 
He  came  into  the  house  about  six  o'clock,  and,  after  a  few 
words  to  his  sister-in-law,  fell  to  the  ground.  There  was  an 
effusion  on  the  brain;  he  never  spoke  again,  and  died  at  ten 
minutes  past  six  on  9  June  1870.  He  was  buried  with  all  possi- 
ble simplicity  in  Westminster  Abbey  14  June  following. 

Dickens  had  ten  children  by  his  wife:  Charles,  born  1837; 
Mary,  born  1838;  Kate,  born  1839,  afterwards  married  to  Charles 
Allston  Collins  [q.  v.],  and  now  Mrs.  Perugini;  Walter  Landor, 
born  1841,  died  12  Dec.  1863  (see  above);  Francis  Jeffrey,  born 
1843;  Alfred  Tennyson,  born  1845,  settled  in  Australia;  Sydney 
Smith  Haldemand,  born  1847,  in  the  navy,  buried  at  sea  2  May 
1867;  Henry  Fielding,  born  1849;  Dora  Annie,  born  1850,  died 
14  April  1851;  and  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton,  born  1852,  settled 
in  Australia. 

Dickens's  appearance  is  familiar  by  innumerable  photographs. 
Among  portraits  may  be  mentioned  (i)  by  Maclise  in  1839  (en- 
graved as  frontispiece  to  'Nicholas  Nickleby'),  original  in 
possession  of  Sir  Alfred  Jodrell  of  Bayfield,  Norfolk;  (2)  pen- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  591 

cil  drawing  by  Maclise  in  1842  (with  his  wife  and  sister); 
(3)  oil-painting  by  E.  M.  Ward  in  1854  (in  possession  of  Mrs. 
Ward) ;  (4)  oil-painting  by  Ary  Scheffer  in  1856  (in  National 
Portrait  Gallery) ;  (5)  oil-painting  by  W.  P.  Frith  in  1859  (in 
Forster  collection  at  South  Kensington) .  Dickens  was  frequently 
compared  in  later  life  to  a  bronzed  sea  captain.  In  early  portraits 
he  has  a  dandified  appearance,  and  was  always  a  little  over-dressed. 
He  possessed  a  wiry  frame,  implying  enormous  nervous  energy 
rather  than  muscular  strength,  and  was  most  active  in  his  habits, 
though  not  really  robust.  He  seems  to  have  overtaxed  his  strength 
by  his  passion  for  walking.  All  who  knew  him,  from  Carlyle 
downwards,  speak  of  his  many  fine  qualities:  his  generosity, 
sincerity,  and  kindliness.  He  was  intensely  fond  of  his  children 
(see  Mrs.  Dickens's  interesting  account  in  Cornhill  Magazine, 
January  1880) ;  he  loved  dogs,  and  had  a  fancy  for  keeping  large 
and  eventually  savage  mastiffs  and  St.  Bernards ;  and  he  was  kind 
even  to  contributors.  His  weaknesses  are  sufficiently  obvious, 
and  are  reflected  in  his  writings.  If  literary  fame  could  be  safely 
measured  by  popularity  with  the  half-educated,  Dickens  must 
claim  the  highest  position  among  English  novelists.  It  is  said, 
apparently  on  authority  (Mr.  Mowbray  Morris  in  Fortnightly 
Review  for  December  1882)  that  4,239,000  volumes  of  his  works 
had  been  sold  in  England  in  the  twelve  years  after  his  death.  The 
criticism  of  more  severe  critics  chiefly  consists  in  the  assertion 
that  his  merits  are  such  as  suit  the  half-educated.  They  admit 
his  fun  to  be  irresistible;  his  pathos,  they  say,  though  it  shows 
boundless  vivacity,  implies  little  real  depth  or  tenderness  of  feeling ; 
and  his  amazing  powers  of  observation  were  out  of  proportion  to  his 
powers  of  reflection.  The  social  and  political  views,  which  he 
constantly  inculcates,  imply  a  deliberate  preference  of  spontaneous 
instinct  to  genuine  reasoned  conviction;  his  style  is  clear,  vigor- 
ous, and  often  felicitous,  but  mannered  and  more  forcible  than 
delicate ;  he  writes  too  clearly  for  readers  who  cannot  take  a  joke 
till  it  has  been  well  hammered  into  their  heads;  his  vivid  percep- 
tion of  external  oddities  passes  into  something  like  hallucination; 
and  in  his  later  books  the  constant  strain  to  produce  effects  only 
legitimate  when  spontaneous  becomes  painful.  His  books  are 
therefore  inimitable  caricatures  of  contemporary  '  humours' 


592  "SIR   LESLIE  STEPHEN 

rather  than  the  masterpieces  of  a  great  observer  of  human  nature. 
The  decision  between  these  and  more  eulogistic  opinions  must  be 
left  to  a  future  edition  of  this  dictionary. 

Dickens's  works  are :  i.  '  Sketches  by  Boz,  illustrative  of  Every- 
day Life  and  Everyday  People,'  2  vols.  1835,  2nd  series,  i  vol. 
December  1836,  illustrated  by  Cruikshank  (from  the  'Monthly 
Magazine,'  the  'Morning'  and  'Evening  Chronicle,'  'Bell's  Life 
in  London,'  and  the  'Library  of  Fiction').  2.  'Sunday  under 
Three  Heads :  as  it  is ;  as  Sabbath-bills  would  make  it ;  as  it 
might  be.  By  Timothy  Sparks,'  illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne, 
June  1836.  3.  'The  Strange  Gentleman,'  a  comic  burletta  in  two 
parts  1837  (produced  29  Sept.  1836  at  the  St.  James's  Theatre). 
4.  'The  Village  Coquettes,'  a  comic  opera  in  two  parts,  December 
1836  (songs  separately  in  1837).  5.  'Is  she  his  Wife?  or  Some- 
thing Singular;'  a  comic  burletta  acted  at  St.  James's  Theatre, 
6  March  1837,  printed  at  Boston,  1877.  6.  '  Posthumous  Papers 
of  the  Pickwick  Club,'  November  1837  (originally  in  monthly  num- 
bers from  April  1836  to  November  1837),  illustrated  by  Seymour, 
Bass,  and  H.  K.  Browne.  7.  'Mudfog  Papers,'  in  'Bentley's 
Miscellany'  (1837-9)  5  reprinted  in  1880.  8.  'Memoirs  of  Joseph 
Grimaldi;  edited  by  Boz,' 2  vols.  1838.  9.  'Oliver  Twist;  or  the 
Parish  Boy's  Progress,'  2  vols.  October  1838  (in  'Bentley's  Mis- 
cellany,' January  1837  to  March  1839),  illustrated  by  Cruikshank. 
10.  'Sketches  of  Young  Gentlemen,' illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne, 
1838.  ii.  'Life  and  Adventures  of  Nicholas  Nicklebly,'  October 
1839  (in  monthly  numbers  April  1838  to  October  1839). 

12.  'Sketches  of  Young  Couples,  with  an  Urgent  Remonstrance 
to  the  Gentlemen  of  England  (being  bachelors  or  widowers)  at 
the  present  alarming  Crisis,'  1840,  illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne. 

13.  'Master  Humphrey's  Clock,'  in  eighty-eight  weekly  numbers, 
from  4  April  1840  to  27  Nov.  1841,  first  volume  published  Septem- 
ber 1840;  second  volume  published  March  1841 ;  third  November 
1841 ;  illustrated  by  George  Cattermole  and  H.  K.  Browne  ('Old 
Curiosity  Shop'  from  vol.  i.  37  to  vol.  ii.  223;   'Barnaby  Rudge' 
from  vol.  ii.  229  to  vol.  iii.  420).     14.  'The  Pic-Nic  Papers,'  by 
various  hands,  edited  by  Charles  Dickens,  who  wrote  the  preface 
and  the  first  story,  'The  Lamplighter'  (the  farce  on  which  the  story 
was  founded  was  printed  in  1879),  3  vo^s-  I^4I  (Dickens  had  noth- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  593 

ing  to  do  with  the  third  volume,  Letters,  ii.  91).  15.  '  American  Notes 
for  General  Circulation/  2  vols.  1842.  16.  'A  Christmas  Carol 
in  Prose;  being  a  Ghost  Story  of  Christmas,'  illustrated  by  Leech, 
1843.  17.  'The  Life  and  Adventures  of  Martin  Chuzzlewit,' 
illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne,  July  1844  (originally  in  monthly 
numbers  from  January  1843  to  July  1844).  18.  'Evenings  of  a 
Working  Man,'  by  John  Overs,  with  a  preface  relative  to  the 
author  by  Charles  Dickens,  1844.  19.  'The  Chimes;  a  Goblin 
Story  of  some  Bells  that  Rang  an  Old  Year  out  and  a  New  Year 
in,'  Christmas,  1844;  illustrated  by  Maclise,  Stanfield,  R.  Doyle, 
and  J.  Leech.  20.  'The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth;  a  Fairy  Tale  of 
Home,'  Christmas,  1845;  illustrated  by  Maclise,  Stanfield,  C. 
Landseer,  R.  Doyle,  and  J.  Leech.  21.  'Pictures  from  Italy,' 
1846  (originally  in  'Daily  News'  from  January  to  March  1846, 
where  it  appeared  as  a  series  of  'Travelling  Letters  written  on 
the  Road')  22.  'The  Battle  of  Life;  a  Love  Story,'  Christmas, 
1846;  illustrated  by  Maclise,  Stanfield,  R.  Doyle,  and  J.  Leech. 
23.  'Dealings  with  the  Firm  of  Dombey  and  Son,  Wholesale, 
Retail,  and  for  Exportation,'  April  1848;  illustrated  by  H.  K. 
Browne  (originally  in  monthly  numbers  from  October  1846  to 
to  April  1848).  24.  'The  Haunted  Man,  and  the  Ghost's 
Bargain;  a  Fancy  for  Christmas  Time,  Christmas,'  1848;  illus- 
trated by  Stanfield,  John  Tenniel,  Frank  Stone,  and  J.  Leech. 
25.  'The  Personal  History  of  David  Copperfield,'  November 
1850;  illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne  (originally  in  monthly  parts 
from  May  1849  to  November  1850).  26.  'Bleak  House,'  Sep- 
tember 1853 ;  illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne  (originally  in  monthly 
numbers  from  March  1852  to  September  1853).  27.  'A  Child's 
History  of  England,'  3  vols.  1854  (originally  in  'Household  Words' 
from  25  Jan.  1851  to  10  Dec.  1853).  28.  'Hard  Times  for  these 
Times,'  August  1854  (originally  in  'Household  Words'  from  i 
April  to  12  Aug.  1854).  29.  'Little  Dorrit,'  June  1857;  illus- 
trated by  H.  K.  Browne  (originally  in  monthly  numbers  from 
December  1855  to  June  1857).  30.  'A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,' 
November  1859;  illustrated  by  H.  K.  Browne  (originally  in  'All 
the  Year  Round,'  from  30  April  to  26  Nov.  1859).  3I;  'Great 
Expectations,'  3  vols.  August  1861 ;  illustrated  (when  published  in 
one  volume  1862)  by  Marcus  Stone  (originally  in  'All  the  Year 

2Q 


594  SIR  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

Round'  from  i  Dec.  1860  to  3  Aug.  1861).  32.  'Our  Mutual 
Friend,'  November  1865 ;  illustrated  by  Marcus  Stone  (originally 
in  monthly  numbers,  May  1864  to  November  1865).  33.  ' Reli- 
gious Opinions  of  the  late  Rev.  Chauncy  Hare  Townshend,' 
edited  by  Charles  Dickens,  1869.  34.  'The  Mystery  of  Edwin 
Drood'  (unfinished);  illustrated  by  S.  L.  Fildes  (six  numbers 
from  April  to  September  1870). 

The  following  appeared  in  the  Christmas  numbers  of  'House- 
hold Words'  and  'All  the  Year  Round:'  'A  Christmas  Tree,'  in 
Christmas  'Household  Words,'  1850;  'What  Christmas  is  as  we 
grow  Older,'  in  'What  Christmas  is,'  ib.  1851;  'The  Poor  Rela- 
tion's Story'  and  'The  Child's  Story,'  in  'Stories  for  Christmas/ 
ib.  1852;  'The  Schoolboy's  Story'  and  'Nobody's  Story,'  in 
'Christmas  Stories/  ib.  1853;  'In  the  Old  City  of  Rochester,' 
'The  Story  of  Richard  Doubledick,'  and  'The  Road,'  in  'The 
Seven  Poor  Travellers,'  ib.  1854;  'Myself,'  'The  Boots,'  and  'The 
Till,'  in  '  The  Holly  Tree,'  ib.  1855 ;  '  The  Wreck,'  in  '  The  Wreck 
of  the  Golden  Mary,'  ib.  1856;  'The  Island  of  Silver  Store'  and 
'The  Rafts  on  the  River,'  in  'The  Perils  of  certain  English  Pris- 
oners,' ib.  1857;  'Going  into  Society,'  in  'A  House  to  Let,'  ib. 
1858;  'The  Mortals  in  the  House'  and  'The  Ghost  in  Master 
B.'s  Room,'  in  'The  Haunted  House,'  'All  the  Year  Round,' 
1859:  'The  Village'  (nearly  the  whole),  'The  Money,'  and  'The 
Restitution,'  in  'A  Message  from  the  Sea,'  ib.  1860;  'Picking  up 
Soot  and  Cinders,'  '  Picking  up  Miss  Kimmeens,'  and  '  Picking  up 
the  Tinker,'  in  'Tom  Tiddler's  Ground,'  ib.  1861;  'His  Leaving 
it  till  called  for,'  'His  Boots,'  'His  Brown  Paper  Parcel,'  and  'His 
Wonderful  End,'  in  'Somebody's  Luggage,'  ib.  1862;  'How  Mrs. 
Lirriper  carried  on  the  Business,'  and  'How  the  Parlour  added  a 
few  Words,'  in  '  Mrs.  Lirriper's  Lodgings,'  ib.  1863 ;  '  Mrs.  Lir- 
riper relates  how  she  went  on  and  went  over'  and  'Mrs.  Lirriper 
relates  how  Jemmy  topped  up,'  in  'Mrs.  Lirriper's  Legacy,'  ib. 
1864;  'To  be  Taken  Immediately,'  'To  be  Taken  for  Life,'  and 
'The  Trial,'  in  'Dr.  Marigold's  Prescriptions,'  ib.  1865;  'Barbox 
Brothers,'  'Barbox  Brothers  &  Co.'  'The  Main  Line,'  the  'Boy 
at  Mugby,'  and  'No.  i  Branch  Line:  the  Signalman,'  in  'Mugby 
Junction,'  ib.  1866;  'No  Thoroughfare'  (with  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins), 
ib.  1867. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS  595 

Besides  these  Dickens  published  the  'Lazy  Tour  of  Two  Idle 
Apprentices '  (with  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins)  in  '  Household  Words '  for 
October  1857;  'Hunted  Down'  (originally  in  the  'New  York 
Ledger')  in  'All  the  Year  Round,'  August  1860;  'The  Uncom- 
mercial Traveller'  (a  series  of  papers  from  28  Jan.  to  13  Oct.  1860, 
collected  in  December  1860).  Eleven  fresh  papers  from  the  same 
were  added  to  an  edition  in  1868,  and  seven  more  were  written 
to  5  June  1869.  A  'Holiday  Romance/  originally  in  ' Our  Young 
Folks/  and  '  George  Silverman's  Explanation/  originally  in  the 
'  Atlantic  Monthly/  appeared  in  'All  the  Year  Round/  from  5  Jan. 
to  22  Feb.  1868.  His  last  paper  in  'All  the  Year  Round*  was 
'Landor's  Life/  5  June  1869.  A  list  of  various  articles  in  news- 
papers, &c.,  is  given  in  R.  H.  Shepherd's  'Bibliography.' 

The  first  collective  edition  of  Dickens's  works  was  begun  in 
April  1847.  The  first  series  closed  in  September  1852;  a  second 
closed  in  1861 ;  and  a  third  in  1874.  The  first  library  edition 
began  in  1857.  The  '  Charles  Dickens'  edition  began  in  America, 
and  was  issued  in  England  from  1868  to  1870.  '  Plays  and  Poems/ 
edited  by  R.  H.  Shepherd,  was  published  in  1882,  suppressed  as 
containing  copyright  matter,  and  reissued  without  this  in  1885. 
'Speeches'  by  the  same  in  1884. 

For  minuter  particulars  see '  Hints  to  Collectors/  by  J.  F.  Dexter, 
in  'Dickens  Memento/  1870;  'Hints  to  Collectors  .  .  .'  by  C.  P. 
Johnson,  1885;  'Bibliography  of  Dickens/  by  R.  H.  Shepherd, 
1880;  and  'Bibliography  of  the  Writings  of  Charles  Dickens/ 
by  James  Cook,  1879. 


THE   LIFE   OF   ROBERT   BROWNING 

EDMUND   GOSSE 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.^ 

BROWNING,  ROBERT  (1812-1889),  Poet>  was  descended,  as  he 
believed,  from  an  Anglo-Saxon  family  which  bore  in  Norman 
times  the  name  De  Bruni.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  stock  has  been 
traced  no  further  back  than  to  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  when  the  poet's  natural  great-grandfather  owned  the 


596  EDMUND  GOSSE 

Woodgates  inn  in  the  parish  of  Partridge  in  Dorset.  The  son  of 
this  man,  Robert  Browning,  was  born  in  1749,  and  was  a  clerk 
in  the  bank  of  England,  rising  to  be  principal  of  the  bank  stock 
office.  He  married,  in  1778,  Margaret  Tittle,  a  West  Indian 
heiress.  He  died  at  Islington  on  n  Dec.  1833.  By  his  first  wife 
he  had  two  children,  a  son  Robert,  and  a  daughter  who  died  un- 
married; by  his  second  wife  he  had  a  large  family.  The  second 
Robert  Browning,  who  was  born  in  1781,  was  early  sent  out  to 
manage  the  parental  estate  in  St.  Kitts,  but  threw  up  his  appoint- 
ment from  disgust  at  the  system  of  slave  labour  prevailing  there. 
In  1803  he  became  a  clerk  in  the  bank  of  England,  and  in  1811 
settled  in  Camberwell,  and  married  the  daughter  of  a  small 
shipowner  in  Dundee  named  Wiedemann,  whose  father  was  a 
Hamburg  merchant.  He  was  a  fluent  writer  of  accurate  verse, 
in  the  eighteenth  century  manner,  and  of  tastes  both  scholarly  and 
artistic.  He  had  wished  to  be  trained  as  a  painter,  and  it  is  said 
that  he  was  wont  in  later  life  to  soothe  his  little  boy  to  sleep  by 
humming  odes  of  Anacreon  to  him.  The  poet,  who  had  little 
sympathy  for  his  grandfather,  adored  the  memory  of  his  father, 
and  gave  impressions  of  his  genius,  which  were  perhaps  exag- 
gerated by  affection.  He  was  athletic  and  enjoyed  magnificent 
health ;  a  ruddy,  active  man,  of  high  intelligence  and  liberality  of 
mind.  He  lived  on  until  1866,  vigorous  to  the  end.  A  letter 
from  Frederick  Locker  Lampson  preserves  some  interesting  im- 
pressions of  this  fine  old  man.  He  had  two  children  —  Robert, 
the  poet,  and  Sarianna,  who  still  survives  (born  1814). 

Robert  Browning,  one  of  the  Englishmen  of  most  indisputable 
genius  whom  the  nineteenth  century  has  produced,  was  born  at 
Southampton  Street,  Camberwell,  on  7  May  1812.  'He  was  a 
handsome,  vigorous,  fearless  child,  and  soon  developed  an  unrest- 
ing activity  and  a  fiery  temper'  (MRS.  ORR).  He  was  keenly 
susceptible,  from  earliest  infancy,  to  music,  poetry,  and  painting. 
At  two  years  and  three  months  he  painted  (in  lead-pencil  and 
black-currant  jam-juice)  a  composition  of  a  cottage  and  rocks, 
which  was  thought  a  masterpiece.  So  turbulent  was  he  and  de- 
structive that  he  was  sent,  a  mere  infant,  to  the  day-school  of  a 
dame,  who  has  the  credit  of  having  divined  his  intellect.  One  of 
the  first  books  which  influenced  him  was  Croxall's  'Fables'  in 


THE  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  597 

verse,  and  he  soon  began  to  make  rhymes,  and  a  little  later  plays. 
From  a  very  early  age  he  began  to  devour  the  volumes  in  his  father's 
well-stocked  library,  and  about  1824  he  had  completed  a  little 
volume  of  verses,  called  '  Incondita,'  for  which  he  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  find  a  publisher,  and  it  was  destroyed.  It  had  been  shown, 
however,  to  Miss  Sarah  Flower,  afterwards  Mrs.  Adams,  who  made 
a  copy  of  it ;  this  copy,  fifty  years  afterwards,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Browning  himself,  who  destroyed  it.  He  told  the  present  writer 
that  these  verses  were  servile  imitations  of  Byron,  who  was  at  that 
time  still  alive;  and  that  their  only  merit  was  their  mellifluous 
smoothness.  Of  Miss  Eliza  Flower  (elder  sister  of  Sarah  Flower), 
his  earliest  literary  friend,  Browning  always  spoke  with  deep  emo- 
tion. Although  she  was  nine  years  his  senior,  he  regarded  her 
with  tender  boyish  sentiment,  and  she  is  believed  to  have  inspired 
'Pauline.'  In  1825,  in  his  fourteenth  year,  a  complete  revolution 
was  made  in  the  boy's  attitude  to  literature  by  his  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  the  poems  of  Shelley  and  Keats,  which  his  mother 
bought  for  him  in  their  original  editions.  He  was  at  this  time  at  the 
school  of  the  Rev,  Thomas  Ready  in  Peckham.  In  1826  the  ques- 
tion of  his  education  was  seriously  raised,  and  it  was  decided  that 
he  should  be  sent  neither  to  a  public  school  nor  ultimately  to  a 
university.  In  later  years  the  poet  regretted  this  decision,  which, 
however,  was  probably  not  unfavourable  to  his  idiosyncrasy.  He 
was  taught  at  home  by  a  tutor;  his  training  was  made  to  include 
'  music,  singing,  dancing,  riding,  boxing,  and  fencing.'  He  became 
an  adept  at  some  of  these,  in  particular  a  graceful  and  intrepid 
rider.  From  fourteen  to  sixteen  he  was  inclined  to  believe  that 
musical  composition  would  be  the  art  in  which  he  might  excel,  and 
he  wrote  a  number  of  settings  for  songs ;  these  he  afterwards  de- 
stroyed. At  his  father's  express  wish,  his  education  was  definitely 
literary.  In  1829-30,  for  a  very  short  time,  he  attended  the  Greek 
class  of  Professor  George  Long  at  London  University,  afterwards 
University  College,  London.  His  aunt,  Mrs.  Silverthorne,  greatly 
encouraged  his  father  in  giving  a  lettered  character  to  Robert's 
training.  He  now  formed  the  acquaintance  of  two  young  men 
of  adventurous  spirit,  each  destined  to  become  distinguished. 
Of  these  one  was  (Sir)  Joseph  Arnould,  and  the  other  Alfred 
Domett;  both  then  lived  at  Camberwell.  Domett  early  in  his 


598  EDMUND   GOSSE 

career  went  out  to  New  Zealand,  in  circumstances  the  suddenness 
and  romance  of  which  suggested  to  Browning  his  poem  of  '  War- 
ing.' To  Domett  also  ' The  Guardian  Angel'  is  dedicated,  and  he 
remained  through  life  a  steadfast  friend  of  the  poet.  While  he  was 
at  University  College,  the  elder  Browning  asked  his  son  what  he 
intended  to  be.  The  young  man  replied  by  asking  if  his  sister 
would  be  sufficiently  provided  for  if  he  adopted  no  business  or 
profession.  The  answer  was  that  she  would  be.  The  poet  then 
suggested  that  it  would  be  better  for  him  'to  see  life  in  the  best 
sense,  and  cultivate  the  powers  of  his  mind,  than  to  shackle  himself 
in  the  very  outset  of  his  career  by  a  laborious  training,  foreign  to 
that  aim.'  'In  short,  Robert,  your  design  is  to  be  a  poet?'  He 
admitted  it ;  and  his  father  at  once  acquiesced.  It  has  been  said 
that  the  bar  and  painting  occurred  to  him  as  possible  professions. 
It  may  be  so,  but  the  statement  just  made  was  taken  from  his  own 
lips,  and  doubtless  represents  the  upshot  of  family  discussion  cul- 
minating in  the  determination  to  live  a  life  of  pure  culture,  out  of 
which  art  might  spontaneously  rise.  It  began  to  rise  immediately, 
in  the  form  of  colossal  schemes  for  poems.  In  October  1832 
Robert  was  already  engaged  upon  his  first  completed  work, 
'Pauline.'  Mrs.  Silverthorne  paid  for  it  to  be  printed,  and  the 
little  volume  appeared,  anonymously,  in  January  1833.  The  poet 
sent  a  copy  to  W.  J.  Fox,  with  a  letter  in  which  he  described  him- 
self as  '  an  oddish  sort  of  boy,  who  had  the  honour  of  being  intro- 
duced to  you  at  Hackney  some  years  back'  by  Sarah  Flower 
Adams.  Fox  reviewed  'Pauline'  with  very  great  warmth  in  the 
'  Monthly  Repository,'  and  it  fell  also  under  the  favourable  notice 
of  Allan  Cunningham.  J.  S.  Mill  read  and  enthusiastically  ad- 
mired it,  but  had  no  opportunity  of  giving  it  public  praise.  With 
these  exceptions  'Pauline'  fell  absolutely  still-born  from  the  press. 
The  life  of  Robert  Browning  during  the  next  two  years  is  very 
obscure.  He  was  still  occupied  with  certain  religious  speculations. 
In  the  winter  of  1833-4,  as  the  guest  of  Mr.  Benckhausen,  the 
Russian  consul-general,  he  spent  three  months  in  St.  Petersburg, 
an  experience  which  had  a  vivid  effect  on  the  awakening  of  his 
poetic  faculties.  At  St.  Petersburg  he  wrote  '  Porphyria's  Lover  ' 
and  'Johannes  Agricola,'  both  of  which  were  printed  in  the 
'Monthly  Repository'  in  1836.  These  are  the  earliest  specimens 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  599 

of  Browning's  dramatico-lyrical  poetry  which  we  possess,  and  their 
maturity  of  style  is  remarkable.  A  sonnet,  'Eyes  calm  beside 
thee,'  is  dated  17  Aug.  1834.  In  the  early  part  of  1834  he  paid 
his  first  visit  to  Italy,  and  saw  Venice  and  Asolo.  'Having  just 
returned  from  his  first  visit  to  Venice,  he  used  to  illustrate  his 
glowing  descriptions  of  its  beauties,  the  palaces,  the  sunsets,  the 
moonrises,  by  a  most  original  kind  of  etching'  on  smoked  note- 
paper  (MRS.  BRIDELL-FOX).  In  the  winter  of  1834  he  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  composition  of  'Paracelsus/  which  was  completed 
in  March  1835.  Fox  helped  him  to  find  a  publisher,  Effingham 
Wilson.  'Paracelsus'  was  dedicated  to  the  Comte  Amadee  de 
Ripert-Monclar  (b.  1808),  a  young  French  royalist,  who  had  sug- 
gested the  subject  to  Browning. 

John  Forster,  who  had  just  come  up  to  London,  wrote  a  careful 
and  enthusiastic  review  of  'Paracelsus'  in  the  'Examiner,'  and 
this  led  to  his  friendship  with  Browning.  The  press  in  general 
took  no  notice  of  this  poem,  but  curiosity  began  to  awaken  among 
lovers  of  poetry.  'Paracelsus'  introduced  Browning  to  Carlyle, 
Talfourd,  Landor,  Home,  Monckton  Milnes,  Barry  Cornwall, 
Mary  Mitford,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  eventually  to  Wordsworth  and 
Dickens.  About  1835  the  Browning  family  moved  from  Camber- 
well  to  Hatcham,  to  a  much  larger  and  more  convenient  house, 
where  the  picturesque  domestic  life  of  the  poet  was  developed. 
In  November  W.  J.  Fox  asked  him  to  dinner  to  meet  Macready, 
who  was  already  prepared  to  admire  'Paracelsus;'  he  entered  in 
his  famous  diary  '  The  writer  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  a  leading  spirit 
of  his  time.'  Browning  saw  the  new  year,  1836,  in  at  Macready's 
house  in  Elstree,  and  met  Forster  for  the  first  time  in  the  coach  on 
the  way  thither.  Macready  urged  him  to  write  for  the  stage,  and 
in  February  Browning  proposed  a  tragedy  of  'Narses.'  This 
came  to  nothing,  but  after  the  supper  to  celebrate  the  success  of 
Talfourd's  'Ion'  (26  May  1836),  Macready  said,  'Write  a  play, 
Browning,  and  keep  me  from  going  to  America.  What  do  you 
say  to  a  drama  on  Strafford  ? '  The  play,  however,  was  not  com- 
pleted for  nearly  another  year.  On  i  May  1837  '  Strafford '  was  pub- 
lished and  produced  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre.  It  was  played  by 
Macready  and  Helen  Faucit,  but  it  only  ran  for  five  nights.  Van- 
denhoff,  who  had  played  the  part  of  Pym  with  great  indifference, 


600  EDMUND   GOSSE 

cavalierly  declined  to  act  any  more.  For  the  next  two  or  three 
years  Browning  lived  very  quietly  at  Hatcham,  writing  under  the 
rose  trees  of  the  large  garden,  riding  on  'York,'  his  horse,  and 
steeping  himself  in  all  literature,  modern  and  ancient,  English  and 
exotic.  His  labours  gradually  concentrated  themselves  on  a  long 
narrative  poem,  historical  and  philosophical,  in  which  he  re- 
counted the  entire  life  of  a  mediaeval  minstrel.  He  had  become 
terrified  at  what  he  thought  a  tendency  to  diffuseness  in  his  ex- 
pression, and  consequently  'Sordello'  is  the  most  tightly  com- 
pressed and  abstrusely  dark  of  all  his  writings.  He  was  partly 
aware  himself  of  its  excessive  density;  the  present  writer  (  in 
1875)  saw  him  take  up  a  copy  of  the  first  edition,  and  say,  with 
a  grimace,  'Ah!  the  entirely  unintelligible  "Sordello."'  It  was 
partly  written  in  Italy,  for  which  country  Browning  started  at 
Easter,  1838.  He  went  to  Trieste  in  a  merchant  ship,  to  Venice, 
Asolo,  the  Euganean  Hills,  Padua,  back  to  Venice;  then  by 
Verona  and  Salzburg  to  the  Rhine,  and  so  home.  On  the  outward 
voyage  he  wrote  '  How  they  brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent 
to  Aix,'  and  many  of  his  best  lyrics  belong  to  this  summer  of 
1838.  In  1839  he  finished  'Sordello'  and  began  the  tragedies 
'King  Victor  and  King  Charles'  and  'Mansoor  the  Hierophant,' 
and  formed  the  acquaintance  of  his  father's  old  schoolfellow, 
John  Kenyon.  In  1840  he  composed  a  tragedy  of  'Hippolytus 
and  Aricia,'  of  which  all  that  has  been  preserved  is  the  prologue 
spoken  by  Artemis. 

' Sordello'  was  published  in  1840,  and  was  received  with  mockery 
by  the  critics  and  with  indifference  by  the  public.  Even  those 
who  had  welcomed  '  Paracelsus '  most  warmly  looked  askance  at 
this  congeries  of  mystifications,  as  it  seemed  to  them.  Browning 
was  not  in  the  least  discouraged,  although,  as  Mrs.  Orr  has  said, 
'  he  was  now  entering  on  a  period  of  general  neglect  which  covered 
nearly  twenty  years  of  his  life.'  The  two  tragedies  were  now  com- 
pleted, the  title  of  'Mansoor'  being  changed  to  'The  Return  of 
the  Druses.'  Edward  Moxon  proposed  to  Browning  that  he  should 
print  his  poems  as  pamphlets,  each  to  form  a  separate  brochure 
of  just  one  sheet,  sixteen  pages  in  double  columns,  the  entire  cost 
of  each  not  to  exceed  twelve  or  fifteen  pounds.  In  this  fashion 
were  produced  the  series  of  'Bells  and  Pomegranates,'  eight  num- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT   BROWNING  6oi 

bers  of  which  appeared  successively  between  1841  and  1846.  Of 
the  business  relations  between  Browning  and  Moxon  the  poet  gave 
the  following  relation  in  1874,  in  a  letter  still  unpublished,  addressed 
to  F.  Locker  Lampson :  '  He  [Moxon]  printed,  on  nine  occasions, 
nine  poems  of  mine,  wholly  at  my  expense:  that  is,  he  printed 
them  and,  subtracting  the  very  moderate  returns,  sent  me  in,  duly, 
the  bill  of  the  remainder  of  expense.  .  .  .  Moxon  was  kind  and 
civil,  made  no  profit  by  me,  I  am  sure,  and  never  tried  to  help  me 
to  any,  he  would  have  assured  you.' 

'Pippa  Passes'  opened  the  series  of  'Bells  and  Pomegranates' 
in  1841 ;  No.  ii.  was  l  King  Victor  and  King  Charles,'  1842 ;  No.  iii. 
'Dramatic  Lyrics/  1842;  No.  iv.  'The  Return  of  the  Druses,' 
1843 ;  No.  v.  'A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,'  1843  J  No-  vi. '  Colombe's 
Birthday,'  1844;  No.  vii.  'Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics,' 
1845;  and  No.  viii.  'Luria'  and  'A  Soul's  Tragedy,'  1846.  In  a 
suppressed  '  note  of  explanation '  Browning  stated  that  by  the  title 
'Bells  and  Pomegranates'  he  meant  'to  indicate  an  endeavour 
towards  something  like  an  alternation,  or  mixture,  of  music  with 
discoursing,  sound  with  sense,  poetry  with  thought.'  Of  the  com- 
position of  these  works  the  following  facts  have  been  preserved. 
'Pippa  Passes'  was  the  result  of  the  sudden  image  of  a  figure 
walking  alone  through  life,  which  came  to  Browning  in  a  wood  near 
Dulwich.  'Dramatic  Lyrics'  contained  the  poem  of  'The  Pied 
Piper  of  Hamelin,'  which  was  written  in  May  1842  to  amuse 
Macready's  little  son  William,  who  made  some  illustrations  for  it 
which  the  poet  preserved.  At  the  same  time  was  written  '  Cres- 
centius,'  which  was  not  printed  until  1890.  'The  Lost  Leader' 
was  suggested  by  Wordsworth's  '  abandonment  of  liberalism  at  an 
unlucky  juncture;'  but  Browning  resisted  strenuously  the  notion 
that  this  poem  was  a  'portrait'  of  Wordsworth.  In  1844  and  1845 
Browning  contributed  six  important  poems  to  'Hood's  Magazine;' 
all  these  — they  included  'The  Tomb  at  St.  Praxed's'  and  'The 
Flight  of  the  Duchess'  —  were  reprinted  in  'Bells  and  Pome- 
granates.' The  play,  'A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,'  was  written  at 
the  desire  of  Macready,  and  was  first  performed  at  Drury  Lane 
on  ii  Feb.  1843.  ^  nac^  been  read  in  manuscript  by  Charles 
Dickens,  who  wrote,  'It  has  thrown  me  into  a  perfect  passion  of 
sorrow,  and  I  swear  it  is  a  tragedy  that  must  be  played,  and  must 


602  EDMUND   GOSSE 

be  played,  moreover,  by  Macready.'  For  some  reason  Forster 
concealed  this  enthusiastic  judgment  of  Dickens  from  Browning, 
and  probably  from  Macready.  The  latter  did  not  act  in  it,  and 
treated  it  with  contumely.  Browning  gave  the  leading  part  to 
Phelps,  and  the  heroine  was  played  by  Helen  Faucit.  The 
'Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon/  though  well  received,  was  'underacted' 
and  had  but  a  short  run.  There  followed  a  quarrel  between  the 
poet  and  Macready,  who  did  not  meet  again  till  1862.  *  Colombe's 
Birthday'  was  read  to  the  Keans  on  10  March  1844,  but  as  they 
wished  to  keep  it  by  them  until  Easter,  1845,  the  poet  took  it  away 
and  printed  it.  It  was  not  acted  until  25  April  1853,  when  Helen 
Faucit  and  Barry  Sullivan  produced  it  at  the  Hay  market.  About 
the  same  time  it  was  performed  at  the  Howard  Athenaeum, 
Boston,  U.S.A. 

In  the  autumn  of  1844  Browning  set  out  on  his  third  journey 
to  Italy,  taking  ship  direct  for  Naples.  He  formed  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  cultivated  young  Neapolitan,  named  Scotti,  with  whom  he 
travelled  to  Rome.  At  Leghorn  Browning  visited  E.  J.  Tre- 
lawney.  The  only  definite  relic  of  this  journey  which  survives 
is  a  shell,  'picked  up  on  one  of  the  Syren  Isles,  October  4,  1844,' 
but  its  impressions  are  embodied  in  'The  Englishman  in  Italy,' 
'Home  Thoughts  from  Abroad,'  and  other  romances  and  lyrics. 
Browning  was  now  at  the  very  height  of  his  genius.  It  was  through 
Kenyon  that  Browning  first  became  acquainted  with  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Moulton  Barrett,  who  was  already  celebrated  as  a  poet, 
and  had,  indeed,  achieved  a  far  wider  reputation  than  Browning. 
Miss  Barrett  was  the  cousin  of  Kenyon;  a  confirmed  invalid,  she 
saw  no  one  and  never  left  the  house.  She  was  an  admirer  of 
Browning's  poems;  he,  on  the  other  hand,  first  read  hers  in  the 
course  of  the  opening  week  of  1845,  although  he  had  become  aware 
that  she  was  a  great  poet.  She  was  six  years  older  than  he,  but 
looked  much  younger  than  her  age.  He  was  induced  to  write  to 
her,  and  his  first  letter,  addressed  from  Hatcham  on  10  Jan.  1845  to 
Miss  Barrett,  at  50  Wimpole  Street,  is  a  declaration  of  passion: 
'  I  love  your  books,  and  I  love  you  too.'  She  replied,  less  gushingly, 
but  with  warmest  friendship,  and  in  a  few  days  they  stood,  without 
quite  realising  it  at  first,  on  the  footing  of  lovers.  Their  earliest 
meeting,  however,  took  place  at  Wimpole  Street,  in  the  afternoon 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  603 

of  Tuesday,  20  May,  1845.  Miss  Barrett  received  Browning  prone 
on  her  sofa,  in  a  partly  darkened  room;  she  'instantly  inspired 
him  with  a  passionate  admiration.'  They  corresponded  with  such 
fulness  that  their  missives  caught  one  another  by  the  heels ;  letters 
full  of  literature  and  tenderness  and  passion;  in  the  course  of 
which  he  soon  begged  her  to  allow  him  to  devote  his  life  to  her  care. 
She  withdrew,  but  he  persisted,  and  each  time  her  denial  grew 
fainter.  He  visited  her  three  times  a  week,  and  these  visits  were 
successfully  concealed  from  her  father,  a  man  of  strange  eccentric- 
ity and  selfishness,  who  thought  that  the  lives  of  all  his  children 
should  be  exclusively  dedicated  to  himself,  and  who  forbade  any 
of  them  to  think  of  marriage.  In  the  whole  matter  the  conduct  of 
Browning,  though  hazardous  and  involving  great  moral  courage, 
can  only  be  considered  strictly  honourable  and  right.  The  happi- 
ness, and  even  perhaps  the  life,  of  the  invalid  depended  upon  her 
leaving  the  hothouse  in  which  she  was  imprisoned.  Her  father 
acted  as  a  mere  tyrant,  and  the  only  alternatives  were  that  Elizabeth 
should  die  in  her  prison  or  should  escape  from  it  with  the  man  she 
loved.  All  Browning's  preparations  were  undertaken  with  delicate 
forethought.  On  12  Sept.  1846,  in  company  with  Wilson,  her 
maid,  Miss  Barrett  left  Wimpole  Street,  took  a  fly  from  a  cab-stand 
in  Marylebone,  and  drove  to  St.  Pancras  Church,  where  they  were 
privately  married.  She  returned  to  her  father's  house;  but  on 
19  Sept.  (Saturday)  she  stole  away  at  dinner-time  with  her  maid  and 
Flush,  her  dog.  At  Vauxhall  Station  Browning  met  her,  and  at 
9  P.M.  they  left  Southampton  for  Havre,  and  on  the  2oth  were  in 
Paris.  In  that  city  they  found  Mrs.  Jameson,  and  in  her  company, 
a  week  later,  started  for  Italy.  They  rested  two  days  at  Avignon, 
where,  at  the  sources  of  Vaucluse,  Browning  lifted  his  wife  through 
the  '  chiare,  frische  e  dolci  acque,'  and  seated  her  on  the  rock  where 
Petrarch  had  seen  the  vision  of  Laura.  They  passed  by  sea  from 
Marseilles  to  Genoa.  Early  in  October  they  reached  Pisa,  and 
settled  there  for  the  winter,  taking  rooms  for  six  months  in  the 
Collegio  Ferdinando.  The  health  of  Mrs.  Browning  bore  the 
strain  far  better  than  could  have  been  anticipated;  indeed,  the 
courageous  step  which  the  lovers  had  taken  was  completely  jus- 
tified; Mr.  Barrett,  however,  continued  implacable. 

The  poets  lived  with  strict  economy  at  Pisa,  and  Mrs.  Browning 


604  EDMUND   GOSSE 

benefited  from  the  freedom  and  the  beauty  of  Italy :  '  I  was  never 
happy  before  in  my  life,'  she  wrote  (5  Nov.  1846).  Early  in  1847 
she  showed  Browning  the  sonnets  she  had  written  during  their 
courtship,  which  she  proposed  to  call  'Sonnets  from  the  Bosnian.' 
To  this  Browning  objected,  '  No,  not  Bosnian  —  that  means 
nothing  —  but  "From  the  Portuguese"!  They  are  Catarina's 
sonnets.'  These  were  privately  printed  in  1847,  and  ultimately 
published  in  1850;  they  form  an  invaluable  record  of  the  loves  of 
two  great  poets.  Their  life  at  Pisa  was  'such  a  quiet,  silent  life,' 
and  by  the  spring  of  1847  the  health  of  Elizabeth  Browning 
seemed  entirely  restored  by  her  happiness  and  liberty.  In  April 
they  left  Pisa  and  reached  Florence  on  the  2oth,  taking  up  their 
abode  in  the  Via  delle  Belle  Donne.  They  made  a  plan  of  going 
for  several  months,  in  July,  to  Vallombrosa,  but  they  were  'in- 
gloriously  expelled'  from  the  monastery  at  the  end  of  five  days. 
They  had  to  return  to  Florence,  and  to  rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Guidi, 
Via  Maggio,  the  famous  '  Casa  Guidi.'  Here  also  the  life  was  most 
quiet :  '  I  can't  make  Robert  go  out  for  a  single  evening,  not  even 
to  a  concert,  nor  to  hear  a  play  of  Alfieri's,  yet  we  fill  up  our  days 
with  books  and  music,  and  a  little  writing  has  its  share'  (E.B.B. 
to  Mary  Mitford,  8  Dec.  1847). 

Early  in  1848  Browning  began  to  prepare  a  collected  edition  of 
his  poems.  He  proposed  that  Moxon  should  publish  this  at  his 
own  risk,  but  he  declined;  whereupon  Browning  made  the  same 
proposal  to  Chapman  &  Hall,  or  Forster  did  it  for  him,  and  they 
accepted.  This  edition  appeared  in  two  volumes  in  1849,  but 
contained  only  'Bells  and  Pomegranates'  and  'Paracelsus.'  The 
Brownings  had  now  been  living  in  Florence,  in  furnished  rooms, 
for  more  than  a  year,  so  they  determined  to  set  up  a  home  for  them- 
selves. They  took  an  apartment  of  'six  beautiful  rooms  and  a 
kitchen,  three  of  them  quite  palace  rooms,  and  opening  on  a  terrace ' 
in  the  Casa  Guidi.  They  saw  few  English  visitors,  and  'as  to 
Italian  society,  one  may  as  well  take  to  longing  for  the  evening 
star,  it  is  so  inaccessible'  (15  July  1848).  In  August  they  went 
to  Fano,  Ancona,  Sinigaglia,  Rimini,  and  Ravenna.  In  October 
Father  Prout  joined  them  for  some  weeks,  and  was  a  welcome 
apparition.  The  'Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon'  was  revived  this 
winter  at  Sadler's  Wells,  by  Phelps,  with  success.  On  9  March 


THE  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  605 

1849  was  born  in  Casa  Guidi  the  poets'  only  child,  Robert 
Wiedemann  Barrett  Browning,  and  a  few  days  later  Browning's 
mother  died.  Sorrow  greatly  depressed  the  poet  at  this  time, 
and  their  position  in  Florence,  in  the  disturbed  state  of  Tuscany, 
was  precarious.  They  stayed  there,  however,  and  in  July  moved 
merely  to  the  Bagni  di  Lucca,  for  three  months'  respite  from  the 
heat.  They  took  '  a  sort  of  eagle's  nest,  the  highest  house  of  the 
highest  of  the  three  villages,  at  the  heart  of  a  hundred  mountains, 
sung  to  continually  by  a  rushing  mountain  stream.'  Here  Brown- 
ing's spirits  revived,  and  they  enjoyed  adventurous  excursions 
into  the  mountains.  In  October  they  returned  to  Florence.  Dur- 
ing this  winter  Browning  was  engaged  in  composing  'Christmas 
Eve  and  Easter  Day,'  which  was  published  in  March  1850.  They 
gradually  saw  more  people  —  Lever,  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli, 
Kirkup,  Greenough,  Miss  Isa  Blagden.  In  September  the  Brown- 
ings went  to  Poggio  al  Vento,  a  villa  two  miles  from  Siena,  for  a 
few  weeks.  The  following  months,  extremely  quiet  ones,  were 
spent  in  Casa  Guidi,  the  health  of  Elizabeth  Browning  not  being 
quite  so  satisfactory  as  it  had  previously  been  since  her  marriage. 
On  2  May  1851  they  started  for  Venice,  where  they  spent  a  month ; 
and  then  by  Milan,  Lucerne,  and  Strassburg  to  Paris,  where  they 
settled  down  for  a  few  weeks. 

At  the  end  of  July  they  crossed  over  to  England,  after  an  absence 
of  nearly  five  years,  and  stayed  until  the  end  of  September  in  lodg- 
ings at  26  Devonshire  Street.  They  lived  very  quietly,  but  saw 
Carlyle,  Forster,  Fanny  Kemble,  Rogers,  and  Barry  Cornwall. 
As  Mr.  Barrett  refused  all  communication  with  them,  in  September 
Browning  wrote  'a  manly,  true,  straightforward  letter'  to  his 
father-in-law,  appealing  for  a  conciliatory  attitude ;  but  he  received 
a  rude  and  insolent  reply,  enclosing,  unopened,  with  the  seals 
unbroken,  all  the  letters  which  his  daughter  had  written  to  him 
during  the  five  years,  and  they  settled,  at  the  close  of  September, 
at  138  Avenue  des  Champs-Elysees ;  the  political  events  in  Paris 
interested  them  exceedingly.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Carlyle 
travelled  with  them  from  London  to  Paris.  They  were  received 
by  Madame  Mohl,  and  at  her  house  met  various  celebrities. 
Browning  attracted  some  curiosity,  his  poetry  having  been  intro- 
duced to  French  readers  for  the  first  time  in  the  August  number 


606  EDMUND  GOSSE 

of  the  '  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,'  by  Joseph  Milsand.  They 
walked  out  in  the  early  morning  of  2  Dec.  while  the  coup  d'etat 
was  in  progress.  In  February  1852  Browning  was  induced  to 
contribute  a  prose  essay  on  Shelley  to  a  volume  of  new  letters  by 
that  poet,  which  Moxon  was  publishing ;  he  did  not  know  anything 
about  the  provenance  of  the  letters,  and  the  introduction  was  on 
Shelley  in  general.  However,  to  his  annoyance,  it  proved  that 
Moxon  was  deceived ;  the  letters  were  shown  to  be  forgeries,  and 
the  book  was  immediately  withdrawn.  The  Brownings  saw 
George  Sand  (13  Feb.),  and  Robert  walked  the  whole  length  of 
the  Tuileries  Gardens  with  her  on  his  arm  (7  April) ;  but  missed, 
by  tiresome  accidents,  Alfred  de  Musset  and  Victor  Hugo. 

At  the  end  of  June  1852  the  Brownings  returned  to  London, 
and  took  lodgings  at  58  Welbeck  Street.  They  went  to  see  Ken- 
yon  at  Wimbledon,  and  met  Landor  there.  They  saw,  about  this 
time,  Ruskin,  Patmore,  Monckton  Milnes,  Kingsley,  and  Tenny- 
son; and  it  is  believed  that  in  this  year  Browning's  friendship 
with  D.  G.  Rossetti  began.  Towards  the  middle  of  November 
1852  the  Brownings  returned  to  Florence,  which  Robert  found 
deadly  dull  after  Paris  —  'no  life,  no  variety.'  This  winter 
Robert  (afterwards  the  first  earl)  Lytton  made  their  acquaintance, 
and  became  an  intimate  friend,  and  they  saw  Frederick  Tennyson, 
and  Power,  the  sculptor.  On  25  April  1853  Browning's  play, 
'Colombe's  Birthday/  was  performed  at  the  Haymarket  for  the 
first  time.  From  July  to  October  1853  they  spent  in  their  old 
haunt  in  the  Casa  Tolomei,  Bagni  di  Lucca,  and  here  Browning 
wrote  'In  a  Balcony,'  and  was  'working  at  a  volume  of  lyrics.' 
After  a  few  weeks  in  Florence  the  Brownings  moved  on  (Novem- 
ber 1853)  to  Rome,  where  they  remained  for  six  months,  in  the 
Via  Bocca  di  Leone;  here  they  saw  Fanny  Kemble,  Thackeray, 
Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere,  Lockhart  (who  said,  'I  like  Browning,  he 
isn't  at  all  like  a  damned  literary  man'),  Leigh  ton,  and  Ampere. 
They  left  Rome  on  22  May,  travelling  back  to  Florence  in  a 
•vettura.  Money  embarrassments  kept  them  'transfixed'  at  Flor- 
ence through  the  summer,  '  unable  even  to  fly  to  the  mountains,' 
but  the  heat  proved  bearable,  and  they  lived  '  a  very  tranquil  and 
happy  fourteen  months  on  their  own  sofas  and  chairs,  among  their 
own  nightingales  and  fireflies.' 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT   BROWNING  607 

This  was  a  silent  period  in  Browning's  life ;  he  was  hardly  writ- 
ing anything  new,  but  revising  the  old  for  'Men  and  Women.' 
In  February  1854  his  poem  'The  Twins'  was  privately  printed 
for  a  bazaar.  In  July  1855  they  left  Italy,  bringing  with  them  the 
manuscripts  of  '  Men  and  Women'  and  of  '  Aurora  Leigh.'  They 
went  to  13  Dorset  Street,  where  many  friends  visited  them.  It  was 
here  that,  on  27  Sept.,  D.  G.  Rossetti  made  his  famous  drawing  of 
Tennyson  reading  'Maud'  aloud.  Here  too  was  written  the  ad- 
dress to  E.B.B.,  '  One  Word  More.'  Soon  after  the  publication  of 
'  Men  and  Women '  they  went  in  October  to  Paris,  lodging  in  great 
discomfort  at  102  Rue  de  Grenelle,  Faubourg  St. -Germain.  In 
December  they  moved  to  3  Rue  du  Colisee,  where  they  were 
happier.  Browning  was  now  engaged  on  an  attempt  to  rewrite 
' Sordello'  in  more  intelligible  form;  this  he  presently  abandoned. 
He  had  one  of  his  very  rare  attacks  of  illness  in  April  1856,  brought 
on  partly  by  disinclination  to  take  exercise.  The  poem  of  'Ben 
Karshook's  Wisdom,'  which  he  excised  from  the  proofs  of  'Men 
and  Women,'  and  which  he  never  reprinted,  appeared  this  year  in 
'The  Keepsake'  as  'May  and  Death'  in  1857.  Kenyon  having 
offered  them  his  London  house,  39  Devonshire  Place,  they  returned 
in  June  1856  to  England,  but  were  called  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  in 
September  by  the  dangerous  illness  of  that  beloved  friend.  He 
seemed  to  rally,  and  in  October  the  Brownings  left  for  Florence; 
Kenyon,  however,  died  on  3  Dec.,  leaving  large  legacies  to  the 
Brownings.  '  During  his  life  his  friendship  had  taken  the  practical 
form  of  allowing  them  ioo/.  a  year,  ,in  order  that  they  might  be 
more  free  to  follow  their  art  for  its  own  sake  only,  and  in  his  will 
he  left  6,5oo/.  to  Robert  Browning  and  4,5oo/.  to  Elizabeth  Brown- 
ing. These  were  the  largest  legacies  in  a  very  generous  will  —  the 
fitting  end  to  a  life  passed  in  acts  of  generosity  and  kindness' 
(F.  G.  KENYON).  The  early  part  of  1857  was  quietly  spent  in  the 
Casa  Guidi;  but  on  30  July  the  Brownings  went,  for  the  third 
time,  to  Bagni  di  Lucca.  They  were  followed  by  Robert  Lytton, 
who  wished  to  be  with  them ;  but  he  arrived  unwell,  and  was  pros- 
trated with  gastric  fever,  through  which  Browning  nursed  him. 
The  Brownings  returned  to  Florence  in  the  autumn,  and  the  next 
twelve  months  were  spent  almost  without  an  incident.  But  in 
July  1858  they  went  to  Paris,  where  they  stayed  a  fortnight  at  the 


608  EDMUND  GOSSE 

Hotel  Hyacinthe,  Rue  St.-Honore,  and  then  went  on  to  Havre, 
where  they  joined  Browning's  father  and  sister.  In  October 
they  went  back,  through  Paris,  to  Florence;  but  after  six  weeks 
left  for  Rome,  where,  on  24  Nov.,  they  settled  in  their  old  rooms  in 
43  Via  Bocca  di  Leone.  Here  they  saw  much  of  Hawthorne, 
Massimo  d'Azeglio,  and  Leighton.  Browning,  in  accordance 
with  a  desire  expressed  by  the  queen,  dined  with  the  young  prince 
of  Wales  at  the  embassy.  They  returned  to  Florence  in  May  1859, 
and  to  Siena,  for  three  months,  in  July.  It  was  at  Florence  at  this 
time  that  the  fierce  and  aged  Landor  presented  himself  to  Brown- 
ing with  a  few  pence  in  his  pocket  and  without  a  home.  Browning 
took  him  to  Siena  and  rented  a  cottage  for  him  there;  at  the  end 
of  the  year  Browning  secured  apartments  for  him  in  Florence, 
where  he  ended  his  days  nearly  five  years  later. 

At  Siena  Edward  Burne- Jones  and  Mr.  Val  Prinsep  joined  the 
Brownings,  and  they  saw  much  of  one  another  the  ensuing  winter 
at  Rome,  whither  the  poets  passed  early  in  December,  finding 
rooms  at  28  Via  del  Tritone.  Here  Browning  wrote  'Sludge  the 
Medium,'  in  reference  to  Home's  spiritualistic  pranks,  which  had 
much  affected  Mrs.  Browning's  composure.  They  left  Rome 
on  4  June  1860,  and  travelled  by  vettura  to  Florence,  through  Or- 
vieto  and  Chiusi ;  six  weeks  later  they  went,  as  before,  to  the  Villa 
Alberti  in  Siena,  returning  to  Florence  in  September.  The  steady 
decline  of  Elizabeth  Browning's  health  was  now  a  matter  of  con- 
stant anxiety ;  this  was  hastened  by  the  news  of  the  death  of  her 
sister,  Henrietta  Surtees-Cook  (December  1860).  From  Siena 
the  Brownings  went  this  winter  direct  to  Rome,  to  126  Via  Felice. 
In  March  1861  Robert  Browning,  now  nearly  fifty,  was  'looking 
remarkably  well  and  young,  in  spite  of  all  lunar  lights  in  his  hair. 
The  women  adore  him  everywhere  far  too  much  for  decency.  In 
my  own  opinion  he  is  infinitely  handsomer  and  more  attractive 
than  when  I  saw  him  first,  sixteen  years  ago'  (E.  B.  B.).  At  the 
close  of  May  1861,  no  definite  alarm  about  Mrs.  Browning  being 
yet  felt,  they  went  back  to  Florence.  She  died  at  last  after  a  few 
days'  illness  in  Browning's  arms,  on  29  June  1861,  in  their  apart- 
ments in  Casa  Guidi.  Thus  closed,  after  sixteen  years  of  un- 
clouded marital  happiness,  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
romantic  relations  between  a  man  and  woman  of  genius  which  the 
history  of  literature  presents  to  us. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  609 

Browning  was  overwhelmed  by  a  disaster  which  he  had  refused 
to  anticipate.  Miss  Isa  Blagden,  whose  friendship  had  long  been 
invaluable  to  the  Brownings  in  Florence,  was  *  perfect  in  all  kind- 
ness' to  the  bereaved  poet.  With  Browning  and  his  little  son 
Miss  Blagden  left  Florence  at  the  end  of  July  1861,  and  travelled 
with  them  to  Paris,  where  he  stayed  at  151  Rue  de  Grenelle, 
Faubourg  St.-Germain.  Browning  never  returned  to  Florence. 
In  Paris  he  parted  from  Miss  Blagden,  who  went  back  to  Italy, 
and  he  proceeded  to  St.-Enegat,  near  Dinard,  where  his  father  and 
sister  were  staying.  In  November  1861  he  went  on  to  London, 
wishing  to  consult  with  his  wife's  sister,  Miss  Arabel  Barrett,  as 
to  the  education  of  his  child.  She  found  him  lodgings,  as  his 
intention  was  to  make  no  lengthy  stay  in  England  ('no  more 
housekeeping  for  me,  even  with  my  family').  Early  in  1862, 
however,  he  became  persuaded  that  this  was  a  wretched  arrange- 
ment, for  his  little  son  as  well  as  for  himself.  Miss  Arabel  Barrett 
was  living  in  Delamere  Terrace,  facing  the  canal,  and  Browning 
took  a  house,  19  Warwick  Crescent,  in  the  same  line  of  buildings, 
a  little  further  east.  Here  he  arranged  the  furniture  which  had 
been  around  him  in  the  Casa  Guidi,  and  here  he  lived  for  more 
than  five-and-twenty  years. 

The  winter  of  1861,  the  first,  it  is  said,  which  he  had  ever  spent 
in  London,  was  inexpressibly  dreary  to  him.  He  was  drawn  to 
spend  it  and  the  following  years  in  this  way  from  a  strong  sense 
of  duty  to  his  father,  his  sister,  and  his  son.  He  made  it,  moreover, 
a  practice  to  visit  Miss  Arabel  Barrett  every  afternoon,  and  with 
her  he  first  attended  Bedford  Chapel  to  listen  to  the  eloquent  ser- 
mons of  Thomas  Jones  (1819-1882).  He  became  a  seatholder 
there,  and  contributed  a  short  introduction  to  a  collection  of  Jones's 
sermons  and  addresses  which  appeared  in  1884.  He  lived  through 
1862  very  quietly,  in  great  depression  of  spirits,  but  devoted,  like 
a  mother,  to  the  interests  of  his  little  son.  In  August  he  was  per- 
suaded to  go  to  the  Pyrenees,  and  spent  that  month  at  Cambo; 
in  September  he  went  on  to  Biarritz,  and  here  he  began  to  meditate 
on  'my  new  poem  which  is  about  to  be,  the  Roman  murder  story,' 
which  ultimately  became  'The  Ring  and  the  Book.'  At  the  same 
time  he  made  a  close  study  of  Euripides,  which  left  a  strong  mark 
on  his  future  work,  and  he  saw  through  the  press  the  '  Last  Poems ' 

2R 


6 10  EDMUND   GOSSE 

of  his  wife,  to  which  he  prefixed  a  dedication  'to  grateful  Florence.' 
In  October  he  returned  by  Paris  to  London. 

On  reappearing  in  London  he  was  pestered  by  applications  from 
volunteer  biographers  of  his  wife.  His  anguish  at  these  imperti- 
nences disturbed  his  peace  and  even  his  health.  On  this  subject 
his  indignation  remained  to  the  last  extreme,  and  the  expressions 
of  it  were  sometimes  unwisely  violent.  'Nothing  that  ought  to  be 
published  shall  be  kept  back,'  however,  he  determined,  and  there- 
fore in  the  course  of  1863  he  published  Mrs.  Browning's  prose 
essays  on  *  The  Greek  Christian  Poets.'  His  own  poems  appeared 
this  year  in  two  forms:  a  selection,  edited  by  John  Forster  and 
Barry  Cornwall,  and  a  three-volume  edition,  relatively  complete. 

Up  to  this  time  the  Procters  (Barry  Cornwall  and  his  wife)  were 
almost  the  only  company  he  kept  outside  his  family  circle.  But 
with  the  spring  of  1863  a  great  change  came  over  his  habits.  He 
had  refused  all  invitations  into  society;  but  now,  of  evenings, 
after  he  had  put  his  boy  to  bed,  the  solitude  weighed  intolerably 
upon  him.  He  told  the  present  writer,  long  afterwards,  that  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  on  one  such  spring  night  in  1863  that  this 
mode  of  life  was  morbid  and  unworthy,  and,  then  and  there,  he 
determined  to  accept  for  the  future  every  suitable  invitation  which 
came  to  him.  Accordingly  he  began  to  dine  out,  and  in  the  process 
of  time  he  grew  to  be  one  of  the  most  familiar  figures  of  the  age  at 
every  dining-table,  concert-hall,  and  place  of  refined  entertainment 
in  London.  This,  however,  was  a  slow  process.  In  1863,  1864, 
and  1865  Browning  spent  the  summer  at  Sainte-Marie,  near 
Pornic, '  a  wild  little  place  in  Brittany,'  by  which  he  was  singularly 
soothed  and  refreshed.  Here  he  wrote  most  of  the  'Dramatis 
Personae.'  Early  in  1864  he  privately  printed,  as  a  pamphlet, 
'Gold  Hair:  a  legend  of  Pornic,'  and  later,  as  a  volume,  the  im- 
portant volume  of  'Dramatis  Personae,'  containing  some  of  the 
finest  and  most  characteristic  of  his  work.  In  this  year  (12  Feb.) 
Browning's  will  was  signed  in  the  presence  of  Tennyson  and 
F.  T.  Palgrave.  He  never  modified  it.  Through  these  years 
his  constant  occupation  was  his  'great  venture,  the  murder-poem,' 
which  was  now  gradually  taking  shape  as  '  The  Ring  and  the  Book.' 
In  September  1865  he  was  occupied  in  making  a  selection  from  Mrs. 
Browning's  poems,  whose  fame  and  sale  continued  greatly  to  exceed 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  6ll 

his  own,  although  he  was  now  at  length  beginning  to  .be  widely 
read.  In  June  1866  he  was  telegraphed  for  to  Paris,  and  arrived 
in  time  to  be  with  his  father  when  he  died  (14  June).  On  the  igth 
he  returned  to  London,  bringing  his  sister  with  him.  For  the 
remainder  of  his  life  she  kept  house  for  him.  They  left  almost 
immediately  for  Dinard,  and  passed  on  to  Le  Croisic,  a  little  town 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Loire,  which  delighted  Browning  exceed- 
ingly. Here  he  took  '  the  most  delicious  and  peculiar  old  house  I 
ever  occupied,  the  oldest  in  the  town;  plenty  of  great  rooms.' 
It  was  here  that  he  wrote  the  ballad  of  'Herve  Riel'  (September 
1867)  which  was  published  four  years  later.  During  1866  and 
1867  Browning  greatly  enjoyed  Le  Croisic.  In  June  1868  Arabel 
Barrett  died  in  Browning's  arms.  She  had  been  his  wife's  favour- 
ite sister,  and  the  one  who  resembled  her  most  in  character  and 
temperament.  Her  death  caused  the  poet  long  distress,  and  for 
many  years  he  was  careful  never  to  pass  her  house  in  Delamere 
Terrace.  In  June  of  this  year  he  was  made  an  hon.  M.A.  of  Ox- 
ford, and  in  October  honorary  fellow  of  JSalliol  College,  mainly 
through  the  friendship  of  Jowett.  At  the  death  of  J.  S.  Mill, 
in  1868,  Browning  was  asked  if  he  would  take  the  lord-rectorship 
of  St.  Andrews  University,  but  he  did  not  feel  himself  justified 
in  accepting  any  duties  which  would  involve  vague  but  consider- 
able extra  expenditure. 

In  1868  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co.  became  Browning's  pub- 
lishers, and  with  Mr.  George  Smith  the  poet  formed  a  close  friend- 
ship which  lasted  until  his  death.  The  firm  of  Smith,  Elder,  & 
Co.  issued  in  1868  a  six- volume  edition  of  Browning's  works,  and 
in  November-December  1868,  January-February  1869,  they 
published,  in  four  successive  monthly  instalments,  '  The  Ring  and 
the  Book.'  Browning  presented  the  manuscript  to  Mr.  Smith. 
The  history  of  this,  the  longest  and  most  imposing  of  Browning's 
works,  appears  to  be  as  follows.  In  June  1860  he  had  discovered 
in  the  Piazza  San  Lorenzo,  Florence,  a  parchment-bound  proces- 
verbal  of  a  Roman  murder  case,  'the  entire  criminal  cause  of 
Guido  Franceschini,  and  four  cut-throats  in  his  pay,'  executed 
for  their  crimes  in  1698.  He  bought  this  volume  for  eight-pence, 
read  it  through  with  intense  and  absorbed  attention,  and  imme- 
diately perceived  the  extraordinary  value  of  its  group  of  parallel 


6l2  EDMUND   GOSSE 

studies  in  psychology.  He  proposed  it  to  Miss  Ogle  as  the  subject 
of  a  prose  romance,  and  '  for  poetic  use  to  one  of  his  leading  con- 
temporaries'  (MRS.  ORR).  It  was  not  until  after  his  wife's  death 
that  he  determined  to  deal  with  it  himself,  and  he  first  began  to 
plan  a  poem  on  the  theme  at  Biarritz  in  September  1862.  He  read 
the  original  documents  eight  times  over  before  starting  on  his  work, 
and  had  arrived  by  that  time  at  a  perfect  clairvoyance,  as  he  be- 
lieved, of  the  motives  of  all  the  persons  concerned.  The  reception 
of '  The  Ring  and  the  Book '  was  a  triumph  for  the  author,  who  now, 
close  on  the  age  of  sixty,  for  the  first  time  took  his  proper  place  in 
the  forefront  of  living  men  of  letters.  The  sale  of  his  earlier  works, 
which  had  been  so  fluctuating  that  at  one  time  not  a  single  copy  of 
any  one  of  them  was  asked  for  during  six  months,  now  became 
regular  and  abundant,  and  the  night  of  Browning's  long  obscurity 
was  over.  A  second  edition  of  the  entire  '  Ring  and  the  Book'  was 
called  for  in  1869.  In  the  summer  of  that  year  Browning  travelled 
in  Scotland  with  the  Storys,  ending  up  with  a  visit  to  Louisa, 
Lady  Ashburton,  at  Loch  Luichart.  For  the  monument  to  Lord 
Dufferin's  mother  he  composed  (26  April  1870)  the  sonnet  called 
'  Helen's  Tower/ 

The  summer  of  this  year,  in  spite  of  the  Franco- German  war, 
was  spent  by  the  Brownings  with  Milsand  in  a  primitive  cottage 
on  the  sea-shore  at  St.-Aubin,  opposite  Havre.  The  poet  wrote, 
*  I  don't  think  we  were  ever  quite  so  thoroughly  washed  by  the  sea- 
air  from  all  quarters  as  here.'  The  progress  of  the  war  troubled  the 
Brownings'  peace  of  mind,  and,  more  than  this,  it  put  serious  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  their  return  to  England.  They  contrived, 
after  some  adventures,  to  get  themselves  transported  by  a  cattle- 
vessel  which  happened  to  be  leaving  Honfleur  for  Southampton 
(September  1870).  In  March  1871  the  '  Cornhill  Magazine' 
published  'Herve  Riel'  (which  had  been  written  in  1867  at  Le 
Croisic) ;  the  ioo/.  which  he  was  paid  for  the  serial  use  of  this  poem 
he  sent  to  the  sufferers  by  the  siege  of  Paris.  In  the  course  of  this 
year  Browning  was  writing  with  great  activity.  Through  the 
spring  months  he  was  occupied  in  completing  'Balaustion's  Ad- 
venture,'the  dedication  of  which  is  dated  22  July  1871;  it  was 
published  early  in  the  autumn.  After  a  very  brief  visit  to  the  Mil- 
sands  at  St.-Aubin,  Browning  spent  the  rest  of  the  summer  of  this 


THE  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  613 

year  in  Scotland,  where  he  composed  '  Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwan- 
gau,'  which  was  published  early  the  following  winter.  In  this 
year  (1871)  Browning  was  elected  a  life-governor  of  University 
College,  London.  Early  in  1872  Milsand  visited  him  in  London, 
and  Alfred  Domett  (Waring)  came  back  at  last  from  New  Zealand ; 
on  the  other  hand,  on  26  Jan.  1873  died  the  faithful  and  sym- 
pathetic Isa  Blagden  (cf.  T.  A.  TROLLOPE,  What  I  Remember, 
11.  174).  In  1872  Browning  published  one  of  the  most  fantastic 
of  his  books,  'Fifine  at  the  Fair,'  composed  in  Alexandrines; 
this  poem  is  reminiscent  of  the  life  at  Pornic  in  1863-5,  and  of  a 
gipsy  whom  the  poet  saw  there.  Mrs.  Orr  records  that  'it  was 
not  without  misgiving  that  he  published  "  Fifine.'"  He  spent 
the  summer  of  1872  and  1873  at  St.-Aubin,  meeting  there  in  the 
earlier  year  Miss  Thackeray  (Mrs.  Ritchie) ;  she  discussed  with 
him  the  symbolism  connecting  the  peaceful  existence  of  the  Norman 
peasantry  with  their  white  head-dress,  and  when  Browning  re- 
turned to  London  he  began  to  compose  'Red  Cotton  Nightcap 
Country,'  which  was  finished  in  January  and  published  in  June 
1873,  with  a  dedication  to  Miss  Thackeray.  In  1874,  at  the  in- 
stance of  an  old  friend,  Miss  A.  Egerton-Smith,  the  Brownings 
took  with  her  a  house,  Maison  Robert,  on  the  cliff  at  Mers,  close 
to  Treport,  and  here  he  wrote  'Aristophanes'  Apology,'  including 
the  remarkable  'transcript'  from  the  'Herakles'  of  Euripides. 
At  Mers  his  manner  of  life  is  thus  described  to  us :  '  In  uninter- 
rupted quiet,  and  in  a  room  devoted  to  his  use,  Mr.  Browning 
would  work  till  the  afternoon  was  advanced,  and  then  set  forth  on 
a  long  walk  over  the  cliffs,  often  in  the  face  of  a  wind  which  he 
could  lean  against  as  if  it  were  a  wall.'  'Aristophanes'  Apology' 
was  published  early  in  1875.  During  the  spring  of  this  year  he 
was  engaged  in  London  in  writing '  The  Inn  Album,'  which  he  com- 
pleted and  sent  to  press  while  the  Brownings  were  at  Villers- 
sur-Mer,  in  Calvados,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1875, 
again  in  company  with  Miss  Egerton-Smith.  In  the  summer 
of  1876  the  same  party  occupied  a  house  in  the  Isle  of  Arran. 
Browning  was  at  this  time  very  deeply  occupied  in  studying  the 
Greek  dramatists,  and  began  a  translation  of  the  'Agamemnon.' 
In  July  1876  he  published  the  volume  known  from  its  title-poem  as 
'  Pacchiarotto.'  This  revealed  in  several  of  its  numbers. a  condition 


6 14  EDMUND   GOSSE 

of  nervous  irritability,  which  was  reflected  in  the  poet's  daily  life ; 
he  was  far  from  well  in  London  during  these  years,  although  a 
change  of  air  to  France  or  Scotland  never  failed  to  produce  a 
sudden  improvement  in  health  and  spirits ;  and  it  was  away  from 
town  that  his  poetry  was  mainly  composed.  In  1877  there  appeared 
his  translation  of  the  '  Agamemnon '  of  ^Eschylus,  and  he  again 
refused  the  lord-rectorship  of  St.  Andrews  University,  as  in  1875 
he  had  refused  that  of  Glasgow. 

For  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1877  the  friends  took  a  house  at 
the  foot  of  La  Saleve,  in  Savoy,  just  above  Geneva;  it  was  called 
La  Saisiaz ;  here  Browning  sat,  as  he  said, '  aerially,  like  Euripides, 
and  saw  the  clouds  come  and  go.'  He  was  not,  however,  in  any- 
thing like  his  usual  spirits,  and  he  suffered  a  terrible  shock  early 
in  September  by  the  sudden  death  of  Miss  Egerton-Smith.  The 
present  writer  recollects  the  extraordinary  change  which  appeared 
to  have  passed  over  the  poet  when  he  reappeared  in  London,  nor 
will  easily  forget  the  tumult  of  emotion  with  which  he  spoke  of  the 
shock  of  his  friend's  dying,  almost  at  his  feet.  He  put  his  reflec- 
tions on  the  subject  into  the  strange  and  noble  poem  of '  La  Saisiaz,' 
which  he  finished  in  November  1877.  He  lightened  the  gloom  of 
what  was  practically  a  monody  on  Miss  Egerton-Smith  by  con- 
trasting it  with  one  of  the  liveliest  of  his  French  studies,  'The 
Two  Poets  of  Croisic,'  which  he  completed  in  January  1878. 
These  two  works,  the  one  so  solemn,  the  other  so  sunny,  were  pub- 
lished in  a  single  volume  in  the  spring  of  1878. 

In  August  1878  he  revisited  Italy  for  the  first  time  since  1861. 
He  stayed  some  time  at  the  Spliigen,  and  here  he  wrote  'Ivan 
Ivanovitch.'  Late  in  September  his  sister  and  he  passed  on  to 
Asolo,  which,  for  the  moment,  failed  to  reawaken  his  old  pleasure ; 
and  in  October  they  went  on  to  Venice,  where  they  stayed  in  the 
Palazzo  Brandolin-Rota.  This  was  a  comparatively  short  visit 
to  Italy,  but  it  awakened  all  Browning's  old  enthusiasm,  and  for 
the  remainder  of  his  life  he  went  to  Italy  as  often  and  for  as  long  a 
time  as  he  could  contrive  to.  During  this  autumn,  and  while  in 
the  south,  he  wrote  the  greater  part  of  the  '  Dramatic  Idyls,'  pub- 
lished early  in  1879.  His  fame  was  now  universal,  and  he  enjoyed 
for  the  first  time  full  recognition  as  one  of  the  two  sovereign  poets 
of  the  age.  '  Tennyson  and  I  seem  now  to  be  regarded  as  the  two 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT   BROWNING  615 

kings  of  Brentford,'  he  laughingly  said  in  the  course  of  this  year. 
His  sister  and  he  returned  to  Venice,  and  to  their  former  quarters, 
in  the  autumn  of  1879  and  again  in  that  of  1880.  In  the  latter  year 
he  published  a  second  series  of  'Dramatic  Idyls,'  including'  Clive,' 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  mention  as  perhaps  the  best  of  all  his 
idyllic  poems  'in  the  Greek  sense.' 

In  the  summer  of  1881  Dr.  Furnivall  and  Miss  E.  H.  Hickey 
started  the  'Browning  Society'  for  the  interpretation  and  illustra- 
tion of  his  writings.  He  received  the  intimation  of  their  project 
with  divided  feelings;  he  could  not  but  be  gratified  at  the  enthu- 
siasm shown  for  his  work  after  long  neglect,  and  yet  he  was  appre- 
hensive of  ridicule.  He  did  not  refuse  to  permit  it,  but  he  declined 
most  positively  to  cooperate  in  it.  He  persisted,  when  talking  of 
it  to  old  friends,  in  treating  it  as  a  joke,  and  he  remained  to  the 
last  a  little  nervous  about  being  identified  with  it.  It  involved, 
indeed,  a  position  of  great  danger  to  a  living  writer,  but,  on  the 
whole,  the  action  of  the  society  on  the  fame  and  general  popularity 
of  the  poet  was  distinctly  advantageous;  and  so  much  worship 
was  agreeable  to  a  man  who  had  passed  middle  life  without  the  due 
average  of  recognition.  He  became,  about  the  same  time,  presi- 
dent of  the  New  Shakspere  Society. 

The  autumn  of  1881  was  the  last  which  the  Brownings  spent  at 
the  Palazzo  Brandolin-Rota.  On  their  way  to  it  they  stopped  for 
six  weeks  at  Saint-Pierre-la-Chartreuse,  close  to  the  monastery, 
where  the  poet  lodged  three  days,  '  staying  there  through  the  night 
in  order  to  hear  the  midnight  mass.'  This  autumn,  in  spite  of 
'abominable  and  un- Venetian'  weather,  was  greatly  appreciated. 
'  I  walk,  even  in  wind  and  rain,  for  a  couple  of  hours  on  Lido,  and 
enjoy  the  break  of  sea  on  the  strip  of  sand  as  much  as  Shelley  did 
in  those  old  days'  (n  Oct.  1881).  Browning  had  now  reached  his 
seventieth  year,  and,  for  the  first  time,  the  flow  of  his  poetic  in- 
vention seemed  to  flag  a  little.  He  did  not  write  much  from  1879 
to  1883.  In  1882  the  Brownings  proceeded  again  to  Saint-Pierre- 
la-Chartreuse  for  the  summer,  intending  to  go  on  to  Venice ;  but 
at  Verona  they  learned  that  the  Palazzo  Brandolin-Rota  had  been 
transformed  into  a  museum,  and,  while  they  hesitated  whither  they 
should  turn,  the  floods  of  the  Po  cut  them  off  from  Venice.  This 
autumn,  therefore,  they  made  Verona  their  headquarters;  and 


616  EDMUND   GOSSE 

here  Browning  wrote  several  of  the  poems  which  appeared  early  in 
1883,  under  the  Batavian-Latin  title  '  Jocoseria.' 

In  1883  the  Brownings  spent  the  summer  opposite  Monte  Rosa, 
at  Gressoney  St. -Jean,  a  place  to  which  the  poet  became  more 
attached  than  to  any  other  Alpine  station ;  later  on  they  passed  to 
Venice,  where  their  excellent  friend,  Mrs.  Arthur  Bronson  (she 
died  on  6  Feb.  1901),  received  them  as  her  guests  in  the  Palazzo 
Giustiniani  Recanati.  Here  Browning  wrote  the  sonnets  '  Sighed 
Rawdon  Brown'  and  'Goldoni.'  In  these  later  years,  his  bodily 
endurance  having  steadily  declined,  Browning  saw  fewer  and  fewer 
people  during  his  long  Venetian  sojourns,  depending  mainly  out- 
side the  salon  of  Mrs.  Bronson  on  '  the  kindness  of  Sir  Henry  and 
Lady  Layard,  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Curtis  of  Palazzo  Barbazo,  and  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frederic  Eden,  for  most  of  his  social  pleasure  and 
comfort'  (MRS.  ORR).  In  1884  Browning  was  made  an  hon. 
LL.D.  of  the  university  of  Edinburgh ;  for  a  third  time  he  declined 
to  be  elected  lord  rector  of  the  university  of  St.  Andrews.  There 
had  been  a  suggestion  in  1876  that  he  should  stand  for  the  professor- 
ship of  poetry  at  Oxford;  this  idea  was  now  revived,  and  greatly 
attracted  him;  he  said  that  if  he  were  elected,  his  first  lecture 
would  be  on  'Beddoes:  a  forgotten  Oxford  Poet.'  It  was  dis- 
covered, however,  that  not  having  taken  the  ordinary  M.A.  degree, 
he  was  not  eligible.  He  wrote  much  in  this  year,  for  besides  the 
sonnets,  'The  Names'  and  'The  Founder  of  the  Feast,'  and  an 
introduction  to  the  posthumous  sermons  of  Thomas  Jones,  he  com- 
posed a  great  number  of  the  idyls  and  lyrics  collected  in  the  winter 
of  1884  as  'Ferishtah's  Fancies.'  The  summer  of  1884  was 
broken  up  by  an  illness  of  Miss  Browning,  and  the  poet  did  not 
get  to  Italy  at  all,  contenting  himself  with  spending  August  and 
September  in  her  villa  at  St.-Moritz  with  Mrs.  Bloomfield  Moore, 
a  widow  lady  from  Philadelphia  with  whom  Browning  was  at  this 
time  on  terms  of  close  friendship. 

In  1885  Browning  accepted  the  honorary  presidency  of  the  Five 
Associated  Societies  of  Edinburgh,  and  in  April  wrote  the  fine 
1  Inscription  for  the  Gravestone  of  Levi  Thaxter.'  In  the  summer 
he  went  again  to  Gressoney  St.- Jean,  thence  proceeding  for  the 
autumn  and  winter  to  Venice.  He  was  now  settled  in  the  Palazzo 
Giustiniani  Recanati,  but  his  son,  who  joined  him,  urged  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT   BROWNING  617 

purchase  of  a  house  in  Venice.  Accordingly,  in  November  1885 
Browning  secured,  or  thought  that.he  had  secured,  the  Palazzo 
Manzoni,  on  the  Grand  Canal ;  but  the  owners,  the  Montecuccule, 
raised  so  many  claims  that  he  withdrew  from  the  bargain  just  in 
time  —  happily,  as  it  proved,  for  the  foundations  of  the  palace  were 
not  in  a  safe  condition ;  but  the  failure  of  the  negotiations  annoyed 
and  distressed  him  to  a  degree  which  betrayed  his  decrease  of  nerve 
power.  Early  in  1886  Browning  succeeded  Lord  Houghton  as  the 
foreign  correspondent  to  the  Royal  Academy,  a  sinecure  post  which 
he  accepted  at  the  earnest  wish  of  Sir  Frederic  Leighton.  Venice 
having  ceased  to  attract  him  for  a  moment,  in  1886  he  made  the 
poor  state  of  health  of  his  sister  his  excuse  for  remaining  in  England, 
his  only  absence  from  London  being  a  somewhat  lengthy  autumnal 
residence  at  the  Hand  Hotel  in  Llangollen,  close  to  the  house  of 
his  friends,  Sir  Theodore  and  Lady  Martin  at  Brintysilio.  After 
his  death  a  tablet  was  placed  in  the  church  of  Llantysilio  to  mark 
the  spot  where  the  poet  was  seen  every  Sunday  afternoon  during 
those  weeks  of  1886.  On  4  Sept.  of  this  year  his  oldest  friend 
passed  away  in  the  person  of  Joseph  Milsand,  to  whose  memory 
he  dedicated  the  'Parleyings'  which  he  was  now  composing. 
This  volume,  the  full  title  of  which  was  'Parleyings  with  certain 
People  of  Importance  in  their  Day,'  consisted,  with  a  prologue  and 
an  epilogue,  of  seven  studies  in  biographical  psychology.  In 
June  1887  the  threat  of  a  railway  to  be  constructed  in  front  of  the 
house  in  which  he  had  lived  so  long  (a  threat  which  was  not  carried 
out)  induced  him  to  leave  19  Warwick  Crescent  and  take  a  new 
house  in  Kensington,  29  De  Vere  Gardens.  While  the  change 
was  being  made  he  went  to  Mrs.  Bloomfield  Moore  at  St.-Moritz 
for  the  summer,  but,  instead  of  proceeding  to  Venice,  returned 
in  September  to  London.  This  winter  'he  was  often  suffering; 
one  terrible  cold  followed  another.  There  was  general  evidence 
that  he  had  at  last  grown  old'  (MRS.  ORR).  But  he  was  still 
writing ;  '  Rosny '  belongs  to  December  of  this  year,  and  '  Flute- 
Music'  to  January  1888.  He  now  began  to  arrange  for  a  uniform 
edition  of  his  works,  which  he  lived  just  long  enough  to  see  com- 
pleted. 

In  August  his  sister  and  he  left  for  Italy;   they  stayed  first  at 
Primiero,  near  Feltre.     By  this  time  his  son  (who  had  married  in 


618  EDMUND   GOSSE 

October  1887)  had  purchased  the  Palazzo  Rezzonico  in  Venice, 
with  money  given  him  for  the  purpose  by  his  father,  and  this  he 
was  now  fitting  up  for  Browning's  reception.  Browning  stayed 
first  in  Ca'Alvise,  and  had  on  the  whole  a  very  happy  autumn  and 
winter  in  Venice.  He  did  not  return  to  London  until  February 
1889.  'He  still  maintained  throughout  the  season  his  old  social 
routine,  not  omitting  his  yearly  visit,  on  the  anniversary  of  Water- 
loo, to  Lord  Albemarle,  its  last  surviving  veteran'  (MRS.  ORR). 
In  the  summer  he  paid  memorable  visits  to  Jowett  at  Balliol 
College,  Oxford,  and  to  Dr.  Butler  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
But  his  strength  was  visibly  failing,  and  when  the  time  came  for 
the  customary  journey  to  Venice,  he  shrank  from  the  fatigue. 
However,  in  the  middle  of  August  he  was  persuaded  to  start  for 
Asolo,  where  Mrs.  Bronson  was,  instead  of  Venice.  He  was 
extremely  happy  at  Asolo,  and  'seemed  possessed  by  a  strange 
buoyancy  —  an  almost  feverish  joy  in  life,  which  blunted  all  sen- 
sations of  physical  distress.'  He  tried  to  purchase  a  small  house 
in  Asolo ;  he  meant  to  call  it  Pippa's  Tower ;  and  since  his  death 
it  has,  with  much  other  land  in  the  town,  become  the  property  of 
his  son.  At  the  beginning  of  November  he  tore  himself  away 
from  Asolo,  and  settled  in  at  the  Palazzo  Rezzonico  in  Venice. 
He  thought  himself  quite  well,  and  walked  each  day  in  the  Lido. 
But  the  temperature  was  very  low,  and  his  heart  began  to  fail.  He 
wrote  to  England  (29  Nov.) :  '  I  have  caught  a  cold ;  I  feel  sadly 
asthmatic,  scarcely  fit  to  travel,  but  I  hope  for  the  best;'  on  the 
3oth  he  declared  it  was  only  his  'provoking  liver,'  and  hoped  soon 
to  be  in  England.  But  he  now  sank  from  day  to  day,  and  at  ten 
P.M.,  on  12  Dec.  1889,  he  died  in  the  Palazzo  Rezzonico.  'It  was 
an  unexpected  blow,'  his  sister  wrote,  '  he  seemed  in  such  excellent 
health  and  exuberant  spirits.'  On  the  i4th,  with  solemn  pomp, 
the  body  was  given  the  ceremony  of  a  public  funeral  in  Venice, 
but  on  the  i6th  was  conveyed  to  England,  where,  on  31  Dec.,  it 
was  buried  in  Poets'  Corner,  Westminster  Abbey,  the  pall  being 
carried  by  Lord  Dufferin,  Leighton,  Sir  Theodore  Martin,  George 
M.  Smith  (his  publisher),  and  other  illustrious  friends.  Brown- 
ing's last  volume  of  poems,  '  Asolando,'  was  actually  published  on 
the  day  of  his  death ;  but  a  message  with  regard  to  the  eagerness 
with  which  it  had  been  '  subscribed '  for  had  time  to  reach  him  on 


THE  LIFE   OF   ROBERT  BROWNING  619 

his  death-bed,  and  he  expressed  his  pleasure  at  the  news.  Shortly 
after  his  death  memorial  tablets  were  affixed  by  the  city  of  Venice 
to  the  outer  wall  of  the  Palazzo  Rezzonico,  and  by  the  Society  of 
Arts  to  that  of  19  Warwick  Crescent.  He  left  behind  him  his  sister, 
Miss  Sarianna  Browning,  and  his  son,  Mr.  Robert  Wiedemann 
Barrett  Browning,  who  are  now  resident  at  Venice  and  Asolo. 

Browning's  rank  in  the  literature  of  the  nineteenth  century  has 
been  the  subject  of  endless  disputation.  It  can  be  discussed  here 
only  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  illustration  of  his  writings  by 
his  person  and  character.  As  a  contributor  to  thought,  it  is  notice- 
able in  the  first  place  that  Browning  was  almost  alone  in  his  genera- 
tion in  preaching  a  persistent  optimism.  In  the  latest  of  his 
published  poems,  in  the  'Epilogue'  to  'Asolando,'  he  sums  up  and 
states  with  unflinching  clearness  his  attitude  towards  life.  He 
desires  to  be  remembered  as 

One  who  never  turned  his  back,  but  marched  breast  forward, 

Never  doubted  clouds  would  break, 

Never  dreamed,  though  right  were  worsted,  wrong  would  triumph, 
Held  we  fall  to  rise,  are  baffled  to  fight  better, 

Sleep  to  wake. 

No  poet  ever  comprehended  his  own  character  better,  or  com- 
prised the  expression  of  it  in  better  language.  This  note  of  mili- 
tant optimism  was  the  ruling  one  in  Browning's  character,  and 
nothing  that  he  wrote  or  said  or  did  in  his  long  career  ever  belied 
it.  This  optimism  was  not  discouraged  by  the  results  of  an  im- 
passioned curiosity  as  to  the  conditions  and  movements  of  the  soul 
in  other  people.  He  was,  as  a  writer,  largely  a  psychological 
monologuist  —  that  is  to  say,  he  loved  to  enter  into  the  nature  of 
persons  widely  different  from  himself,  and  push  his  study,  or  con- 
struction, of  their  experiences  to  the  furthest  limit  of  exploration. 
In  these  adventures  he  constantly  met  with  evidences  of  baseness, 
frailty,  and  inconsistency ;  but  his  tolerance  was  apostolic,  and  the 
only  thing  which  ever  disturbed  his  moral  equanimity  was  the  evi- 
dences of  selfishness.  He  could  forgive  anything  but  cruelty. 
His  optimism  accompanied  his  curiosity  on  these  adventures  into 
the  souls  of  others,  and  prevented  him  from  falling  into  cynicism  or 
indignation.  He  kept  his  temper  and  was  a  benevolent  observer. 


620  EDMUND   GOSSE 

This  characteristic  in  his  writings  was  noted  in  his  life  as  well. 
Although  Browning  was  so  sublime  a  metaphysical  poet,  nothing 
delighted  him  more  than  to  listen  to  an  accumulation  of  trifling 
(if  exact)  circumstances  which  helped  to  build  up  the  life  of  a  hu- 
man being.  Every  man  and  woman  whom  he  met  was  to  Brown- 
ing a  poem  in  solution;  some  chemical  condition  might  at  any 
moment  resolve  any  one  of  the  multitude  into  a  crystal.  His 
optimism,  his  curiosity,  and  his  clairvoyance  occupied  his  thoughts 
in  a  remarkably  objective  way.  He  was  of  all  poets  the  one  least 
self-centred,  and  therefore  in  all  probability  the  happiest.  His 
physical  conditions  were  in  harmony  with  his  spiritual  charac- 
teristics. He  was  robust,  active,  loud  in  speech,  cordial  in  manner, 
gracious  and  conciliatory  in  address,  but  subject  to  sudden  fits  of 
indignation  which  were  like  thunderstorms.  In  all  these  respects 
it  seems  probable  that  his  character  altered  very  little  as  the  years 
went  on.  What  he  was  as  a  boy,  in  these  respects,  it  is  believed  that 
he  continued  to  be  as  an  old  man.  'He  missed  the  morbid  over- 
refinement  of  the  age;  the  processes  of  his  mind  were  sometimes 
even  a  little  coarse,  and  always  delightfully  direct.  For  real  deli- 
cacy he  had  full  appreciation,  but  he  was  brutally  scornful  of  all 
exquisite  morbidness.  The  vibration  of  his  loud  voice,  his  hard 
fist  upon  the  table,  would  make  very  short  work  with  cobwebs. 
But  this  external  roughness,  like  the  rind  of  a  fruit,  merely  served 
to  keep  the  inner  sensibilities  young  and  fresh.  None  of  his  in- 
stincts grew  old.  Long  as  he  lived,  he  did  not  live  long  enough  for 
one  of  his  ideals  to  vanish,  for  one  of  his  enthusiasms  to  lose  its 
heat.  The  subtlest  of  writers,  he  was  the  singlest  of  men,  and  he 
learned  in  serenity  what  he  taught  in  song.'  The  question  of  the 
'obscurity'  of  his  style  has  been  mooted  too  often  and  emphasised 
too  much  by  Browning's  friends  and  enemies  alike,  to  be  passed 
over  in  silence  here.  But  here,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  impossible  to 
deal  with  it  exhaustively.  Something  may,  however,  be  said  in 
admission  and  in  defence.  We  must  admit  that  Browning  is  often 
harsh,  hard,  crabbed,  and  nodulous  to  the  last  degree;  he  sup- 
pressed too  many  of  the  smaller  parts  of  speech  in  his  desire  to 
produce  a  concise  and  rapid  impression.  He  twisted  words  out 
of  their  fit  construction,  he  clothed  extremely  subtle  ideas  in  lan- 
guage which  sometimes  made  them  appear  not  merely  difficult 


THE  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  BROWNING  621 

but  impossible  of  comprehension.  Odd  as  it  sounds  to  say  so, 
these  faults  seem  to  have  been  the  result  of  too  facile  a  mode  of 
composition.  Perhaps  no  poet  of  equal  importance  has  written 
so  fluently  and  corrected  so  little  as  Browning  did.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  defence,  it  must  be  said  that  it  is  always,  or  nearly  always, 
possible  to  penetrate  Browning's  obscurity,  and  to  find  excellent 
thought  hidden  in  the  cloud,  and  that  time  and  familiarity  have 
already  made  a  great  deal  perfectly  translucent  which  at  one  time 
seemed  impenetrable  even  to  the  most  respectful  and  intelligent 
reader. 

In  person  Browning  was  below  the  middle  height,  but  broadly 
built  and  of  great  muscular  strength,  which  he  retained  through 
life  in  spite  of  his  indifference  to  all  athletic  exercises.  His  hair 
was  dark  brown,  and  in  early  life  exceedingly  full  and  lustrous; 
in  middle  life  it  faded,  and  in  old  age  turned  white,  remaining  copi- 
ous to  the  last.  The  earliest  known  portrait  of  Browning  is  that 
engraved  for  Home's  '  New  Spirit  of  the  Age'  in  1844,  when  he  was 
about  thirty- two.  In  1854  a  highly  finished  pencil  drawing  of 
him  was  made  in  Rome  by  Frederic  Leighton,  but  this  appears 
to  be  lost.  In  1855,  or  a  little  later,  Browning  was  painted  by 
Gordigiani,  and  in  1856  Woolner  executed  a  bronze  medallion 
of  him.  In  1859  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  sat  to  Field  Talfourd  in 
Florence  for  life-sized  crayon  portraits,  of  which  that  of  Elizabeth 
is  now  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  where  that  of  Robert, 
long  in  the  possession  of  the  present  writer,  joined  it  in  July  1900. 
Of  this  portrait  Browning  wrote  long  afterwards  (23  Feb.  1888), 
'  My  sister  —  a  better  authority  than  myself  —  has  always  liked  it, 
as  resembling  its  subject  when  his  features  had  more  resemblance 
to  those  of  his  mother  than  in  after-time,  when  those  of  his  father 
got  the  better  —  or  perhaps  the  worse  —  of  them.'  He  was  again 
painted  by  Mr.  G.  F.  Watts,  R.A.,  about  1865,  and  by  Mr.  Rudolf 
Lehmann  in  1859  and  several  later  occasions.  The  portraits  by 
Watts  and  Lehmann  are  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery.  In  his 
last  years  Browning,  with  extreme  good-nature,  was  willing  to  sit 
for  his  portrait  to  any  one  who  asked  him.  He  was  once  discovered 
in  Venice,  surrounded,  like  a  model  in  a  life-class,  by  a  group  of 
artistic  ladies,  each  taking  him  off  from  a  different  point  of  view. 
Of  these  representations  of  Browning  as  an  old  man,  the  best  are 


622  EDMUND   GOSSE 

certainly  those  executed  by  his  son,  in  particular  a  portrait  painted 
in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1880. 

The  publications  of  Robert  Browning,  with  their  dates  of  issue, 
have  been  mentioned  in  the  course  of  the  narrative.  The  first  of 
the  collected  editions,  the  so-called  'New  Edition'  of  1849,  in  2 
vols.,  was  not  complete  even  up  to  date.  Much  more  comprehen- 
sive was  the  'third  edition'  (really  the  second)  of  the  'Poetical 
Works  of  Robert  Browning'  issued  in  1863.  A  'fourth'  (third) 
appeared  in  1865.  'Selections'  were  published  in  1863  and  1865. 
The  earliest  edition  of  the  'Poetical  Works'  which  was  complete 
in  any  true  sense  was  that  issued  by  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co. 
in  1868,  in  six  volumes;  here  'Pauline'  first  reappeared,  and  here 
is  published  for  the  first  time  the  poem  entitled  '  Deaf  and  Dumb.' 
These  volumes  represent  Browning's  achievements  down  to,  but 
not  including,  'The  Ring  and  the  Book.'  Further  independent 
selections  were  published  in  1872  and  1880 ;  and  both  were  reprinted 
in  1884.  A  beautiful  separate  edition  of  'The  Pied  Piper  of 
Hamelin,'  made  to  accompany  Pinwell's  drawings,  belongs  to 
1884.  The  edition  of  Browning's  works,  in  sixteen  volumes, 
was  issued  in  1888-9,  an(^  contains  everything  but '  Asolando.'  In 
1896  there  appeared  a  complete  edition,  in  two  volumes,  edited 
by  Mr.  Augustine  Birrell,  Q.C.,  M.P.,  and  Mr.  F.  G.  Kenyon. 

A  claim  has  been  made  for  the  authorship  by  Browning  of  John 
Forster's  'Life  of  Strafford,'  originally  published  in  1836;  and  this 
book  was  rashly  reprinted  by  the  Browning  Society  in  1892  as 
'Robert  Browning's  Prose  Life  of  Strafford.'  This  attribution 
was  immediately  repudiated,  in  the  least  equivocal  terms  possible, 
by  the  surviving  representatives  of  the  Browning  and  Forster 
families.  It  is  possible  that  Forster  may  have  received  some  help 
from  Browning  in  the  preparation  of  the  book,  but  it  was  certainly 
written  by  Forster. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          623 

THE  LIFE   OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

SIDNEY  COLVIN 
[From  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.} 

STEVENSON,  ROBERT  Louis  (1850-1894),  novelist,  essayist, 
poet,  and  traveller,  was  born  at  8  Howard  Place,  Edinburgh,  on 
13  Nov.  1850.  He  was  baptised  Robert  Lewis  Balfour,  but  from 
about  his  eighteenth  year  dropped  the  use  of  the  third  Christian 
name  and  changed  the  spelling  of  the  second  to  Louis;  signing 
thereafter  Robert  Louis  in  full,  and  being  called  always  Louis 
by  his  family  and  intimate  friends.  On  both  sides  of  the  house 
he  was  sprung  from  capable  and  cultivated  stock.  His  father, 
Thomas  Stevenson,  was  a  member  of  the  distinguished  Edinburgh 
firm  of  civil  engineers.  His  mother  was  Margaret  Isabella  (d.  14 
May  1897),  youngest  daughter  of  James  Balfour,  for  many  years 
minister  of  the  parish  of  Colinton  in  Midlothian,  and  grandson  to 
James  Balfour  (1705-1795),  professor  at  Edinburgh  first  of  moral 
philosophy  and  afterwards  of  the  law  of  nature  and  of  nations. 
His  mother's  father  was  described  by  his  grandson  in  the  essay 
called  'The  Manse.'  Robert  Louis  was  his  parents'  only  child. 
His  mother  was  subject  in  early  and  middle  life  to  chest  and  nerve 
troubles,  and  her  son  may  have  inherited  from  her  some  of  his  con- 
stitutional weakness  as  well  as  of  his  intellectual  vivacity  and 
taste  for  letters.  His  health  was  infirm  from  the  first.  He  suffered 
from  frequent  bronchial  affections  and  acute  nervous  excitability, 
and  in  the  autumn  of  1858  was  near  dying  of  a  gastric  fever.  In 
January  1853  his  parents  moved  to  No.  i  Inverleith  Terrace, 
and  in  May  1857  to  17  Heriot  Row,  which  continued  to  be  their 
Edinburgh  home  until  the  father's  death  in  1887.  Much  of  his 
time  was  also  spent  in  the  manse  at  Colinton  on  the  water  of  Leith, 
the  home  of  his  maternal  grandfather.  If  he  suffered  much  as  a 
child  from  the  distresses,  he  also  enjoyed  to  the  full  the  pleasures, 
of  imagination.  He  was  eager  in  every  kind  of  play,  and  made  the 
most  of  all  the  amusements  natural  to  an  only  child  kept  much 
indoors  by  ill-health.  The  child  in  him  never  died;  and  the  zest 
with  which  in  after  life  he  would  throw  himself  into  the  pursuits  of 


624  SIDNEY   COLVIN 

children  and  young  boys  was  on  his  own  account  as  much  as  on 
theirs.  This  spirit  is  illustrated  in  the  pieces  which  he  wrote  and 
published  under  the  title  'A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses,'  as  well 
as  in  a  number  of  retrospective  essays  and  fragments  referring 
with  peculiar  insight  and  freshness  of  memory  to  that  period  of 
life  ('Child's  Play,'  'Notes  of  Childhood,'  'Rosa  quo  locorum,' 
and  others  unpublished). 

Such  a  child  was  naturally  a  greedy  reader,  or  rather  listener  to 
reading ;  for  it  was  not  until  his  eighth  year  that  he  learned  to  read 
easily  or  habitually  to  himself.  He  began  early  to  take  pleasure  in 
attempts  at  composition:  a  'History  of  Moses,'  dictated  in  his 
sixth  year,  and  an  account  of  'Travels  in  Perth,'  in  his  ninth,  are 
still  extant.  Ill-health  prevented  his  getting  much  regular  or 
continuous  schooling.  He  attended  first  (1858-61)  a  preparatory 
school  kept  by  a  Mr.  Henderson  in  India  Street ;  and  next  (at  in- 
tervals for  some  time  after  the  autumn  of  1861)  the  Edinburgh 
Academy.  For  a  few  months  in  the  autumn  of  1863  he  was  at 
a  boarding-school  kept  by  a  Mr.  Wyatt  at  Spring  Grove,  near 
London;  from  1864  to  1867  his  education  was  conducted  chiefly 
at  Mr.  Thompson's  private  school  in  Frederick  Street,  Edin- 
burgh, and  by  private  tutors  in  various  places  to  which  he 
travelled  for  his  own  or  his  parents'  health.  Such  travels  in- 
cluded frequent  visits  to  health  resorts  in  Scotland;  occasional 
excursions  with  his  father  on  his  nearer  professional  rounds,  e.g. 
to  the  coasts  and  lighthouses  of  Fife  in  1864;  and  also  longer 
journeys  —  to  Germany  and  Holland  in  1862,  to  Italy  in  1863,  to 
the  Riviera  in  the  spring  of  1864,  and  to  Torquay  in  1865  and 
1866.  From  1867  the  family  life  became  more  settled  between 
Edinburgh  and  Swanston  cottage,  a  country  home  in  the  Pent- 
lands  which  Thomas  Stevenson  first  rented  in  that  year,  and  the 
scenery  and  associations  of  which  inspired  not  a  little  of  his  son's 
work  in  literature  (see  especially  A  Pastoral  and  St.  Ives). 

In  November  of  the  same  year,  1867,  Louis  Stevenson  was 
entered  as  a  student  at  the  Edinburgh  University,  and  for  several 
winters  attended  classes  there  with  such  regularity  as  his  health 
and  inclinations  permitted.  According  to  his  own  account  (essay 
on  A  College  Magazine;  Life  of  Fleeming  Jenkin,  &c.),  he  was 
alike  at  school  and  college  an  incorrigible  idler  and  truant.  But 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON  625 

outside  the  field  of  school  and  college  routine  he  showed  eager 
curiosity  and  activity  of  mind.  '  He  was  of  a  conversable  temper/ 
so  he  says  of  himself,  '  and  insatiably  curious  in  the  aspects  of  life ; 
and  spent  much  of  his  time  scraping  acquaintance  with  all  classes 
of  man  and  woman  kind.'  At  the  same  time  he  read  precociously 
and  omnivorously  in  the  belles-lettres,  including  a  very  wide  range 
of  English  poetry,  fiction,  and  essays,  and  a  fairly  wide  range  of 
French;  and  was  a  genuine  student  of  Scottish  history,  and  to 
some  extent  of  history  in  general.  He  had  been  intended  as  a 
matter  of  course  to  follow  the  family  profession  of  engineering; 
and  from  1868  his  summer  excursions  took  a  professional  turn. 
In  that  and  the  two  following  years  he  went  to  watch  the  works 
of  the  firm  in  progress  at  various  points  on  the  mainland  and  in 
the  northern  and  western  islands.  He  was  a  favourite,  though  a 
very  irregular,  pupil  of  the  professor  of  engineering,  Fleeming 
Jenkin;  and  must  have  shown  some  aptitude  for  the  calling 
hereditary  in  his  family,  inasmuch  as  in  1871  he  received  the  silver 
medal  of  the  Edinburgh  Society  of  Arts  for  a  paper  on  a  suggested 
improvement  in  lighthouse  apparatus.  The  outdoor  and  seafaring 
parts  of  the  profession  were  in  fact  wholly  to  his  taste,  as  in  spite 
of  his  frail  health  he  had  a  passion  for  open-air  exercise  and  adven- 
ture (though  not  for  sports).  Office  work,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
his  aversion,  and  his  physical  powers  were  unequal  to  the  workshop 
training  necessary  to  the  practical  engineer.  Accordingly  in  this 
year,  1871,  it  was  agreed  that  he  should  give  up  the  hereditary 
profession  and  read  for  the  bar. 

For  several  ensuing  years  Stevenson  attended  law  classes  in  the 
university,  giving  to  the  subject  some  serious  although  fitful  atten- 
tion, until  he  was  called  to  the  bar  in  1875.  But  it  was  on  another 
side  that  this  'pattern  of  an  idler,'  to  use  his  own  words,  was  gradu- 
ally developing  himself  into  a  model  of  unsparing  industry.  From 
childhood  he  had  never  ceased  to  practise  writing,  and  on  all  his 
truantries  went  pencil  and  copybook  in  hand.  Family  and  school 
magazines  in  manuscript  are  extant  of  which,  between  his  thirteenth 
and  sixteenth  years,  he  was  editor,  chief  contributor,  and  illustrator. 
In  his  sixteenth  year  he  wrote  a  serious  essay  on  the  'Pentland 
Rising  of  1666'  (having  already  tried  his  hand  at  an  historical 
romance  on  the  same  subject).  This  was  printed  as  a  pamphlet, 

28 


626  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

and  is  now  a  rarity  in  request  among  collectors.  For  the  following 
four  or  five  years,  though  always  writing  both  in  prose  and  verse, 
he  kept  his  efforts  to  himself,  and  generally  destroyed  the  more 
ambitious  of  them.  Among  these  were  a  romance  on  the  life  of 
Hackston  of  Rathillet,  a  poetical  play  of  'Semiramis'  written  in 
imitation  of  Webster,  and  'Voces  Fidelium,'  a  series  of  dramatic 
dialogues  in  verse.  A  few  manuscript  essays  and  notes  of  travel 
that  have  been  preserved  from  1868  to  1870,  together  with  his 
letters  to  his  mother  of  the  same  period,  show  almost  as  good  a 
gift  of  observation  and  expression  as  his  published  work  of  five 
or  six  years  later.  Less  promising  and  less  personal  are  a  series 
of  six  papers  which  he  contributed  in  1871  to  the  'Edinburgh 
University  Magazine,'  a  short-lived  periodical  started  by  him  in 
conjunction  with  one  or  two  college  friends  and  fellow-members 
of  the  Speculative  Society. 

With  high  social  spirits  and  a  brilliant,  somewhat  fantastic, 
gaiety  of  bearing,  Stevenson  was  no  stranger  to  the  storms  and 
perplexities  of  youth.  A  restless  and  inquiring  conscience,  per- 
haps inherited  from  covenanting  ancestors,  kept  him  inwardly 
calling  in  question  the  grounds  of  conduct  and  the  accepted  codes 
of  society.  At  the  same  time  his  reading  had  shaken  his  belief 
in  Christian  dogma;  the  harsher  forms  of  Scottish  Calvinistic 
Christianity  being  indeed  at  all  times  repugnant  to  his  nature. 
From  the  last  circumstance  arose  for  a  time  troubles  with  his 
father,  the  more  trying  while  they  lasted  because  of  the  deep  at- 
tachment and  pride  in  each  other  which  always  subsisted  between 
father  and  son.  He  loved  the  aspects  of  his  native  city,  but  neither 
its  physical  nor  its  social  atmosphere  was  congenial  to  him.  Amid 
the  biting  winds  and  rigid  social  conventions  of  Edinburgh  he 
craved  for  Bohemian  freedom  and  the  joy  of  life,  and  for  a  while 
seemed  in  danger  of  a  fate  like  that  of  the  boy-poet,  Robert  Fergus- 
son,  with  whom  he  always  owned  a  strong  sense  of  spiritual  affinity. 

But  his  innate  sanity  of  mind  and  disposition  prevailed.  In  the 
summer  of  1873  he  made  new  friends,  who  encouraged  him  strongly 
to  the  career  of  letters.  His  first  contribution  to  regular  periodical 
literature,  a  little  paper  on  'Roads,'  appeared  in  the  'Portfolio' 
(edited  by  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton)  for  December  1873.  In  the 
meantime  his  health  had  suffered  a  serious  breakdown.  In  conse- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          627 

quence  of  acute  nervous  exhaustion,  combined  with  threatening 
lung  symptoms,  he  was  ordered  to  the  Riviera,  where  he  spent 
(chiefly  at  Mentone)  the  winter  of  1873-4.  Returning  with  a  cer- 
tain measure  of  recovered  health  in  April  1874,  he  went  to  live 
with  his  parents  at  Edinburgh  and  Swanston,  and  resumed  his 
reading  for  the  bar.  He  attended  classes  for  Scots  law  and  con- 
veyancing, and  for  constitutional  law  and  history.  He  worked 
also  for  a  time  in  the  office  of  Messrs.  Skene,  Edwards,  &  Bilton, 
of  which  the  antiquary  and  historian,  William  Forbes  Skene  was 
senior  partner.  On  14  July  1875  he  passed  his  final  examination 
with  credit,  and  was  called  to  the  bar  on  the  i6th,  but  never  prac- 
tised. Since  abandoning  the  engineering  profession  he  had  re- 
sumed the  habit  of  frequent  miscellaneous  excursions  in  Scotland, 
England,  or  abroad.  Now,  in  1875,  began  the  first  of  a  series  of 
visits  to  the  artistic  settlements  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Fontaine- 
bleau,  where  his  cousin,  Mr.  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson,  was  for  the  time 
established.  He  found  the  forest  climate  restorative  to  his  health, 
and  the  life  and  company  of  Barbizon  and  the  other  student  re- 
sorts congenial.  In  the  winter  of  1874-5  he  made  in  Edinburgh 
the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  W.  E.  Henley,  which  quickly  ripened  into 
a  close  and  stimulating  literary  friendship.  In  London  he  avoided 
all  formal  and  dress-coated  society;  and  at  the  Savile  Club  (his 
favourite  haunt)  and  elsewhere  his  own  Bohemian  oddities  of  dress 
and  appearance  would  sometimes  repel  at  first  sight  persons  to 
whom  on  acquaintance  he  soon  became  endeared  by  the  charm  of 
his  conversation.  Among  his  friends  of  these  years  may  be  espe- 
cially mentioned  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  Mr.  James  Payn,  Dr.  Apple- 
ton  (editor  of  the  '  Academy'),  Professor  Clifford,  Mr.  Walter  Pol- 
lock, Mr.  Cosmo  Monkhouse,  Mr.  Andrew  Lang,  and  Mr.  Edmund 
Gosse.  In  1876  he  went  with  Sir  Walter  Simpson  on  the  canoe 
tour  in  Belgium  and  France  described  in  the  '  Inland  Voyage.' 
In  the  spring  of  1878  he  made  friends  at  Burford  Bridge  with 
a  senior  whom  he  had  long  honoured,  Mr.  George  Meredith; 
and  in  the  summer  had  a  new  experience  in  serving  as  secretary 
to  Professor  Fleeming  Jenkin  in  his  capacity  of  juror  on  the  Paris 
Exhibition.  In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  he  spent  a  month  at 
Monastier  in  Velay,  whence  he  took  the  walk  through  the  moun- 
tains to  Florae  narrated  in  the  '  Travels  with  a  Donkey  in  the 
Cevennes.' 


628  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

During  these  years,  1874-8,  his  health,  though  frail,  was  pass- 
able. With  his  vagrant  way  of  life  he  combined  a  steady  and  grow- 
ing literary  industry.  While  reading  for  the  bar  in  1874-5,  much 
of  his  work  was  merely  experimental  (poems,  prose-poems,  and 
tales  not  published) .  Much  also  was  in  preparation  for  proposed 
undertakings  on  Scottish  history.  His  studies  in  Highland  history, 
which  were  diligent  and  exact,  in  the  end  only  served  to  provide 
the  historical  background  of  his  Scottish  romances.  Until  the 
end  of  1875  he  had  only  published,  in  addition  to  essays  in  the 
magazines,  an  'Appeal  to  the  Church  of  Scotland,'  written  to 
please  his  father  and  published  as  a  pamphlet  in  1875.  In  1876 
he  contributed  as  a  journalist,  but  not  frequently,  to  the  '  Academy' 
and  ' Vanity  Fair,'  and  in  1877  more  abundantly  to  'London,' 
a  weekly  review  newly  founded  under  the  editorship  of  Mr.  Glas- 
gow Brown,  an  acquaintance  of  Edinburgh  Speculative  days.  In 
the  former  year,  1876,  began  the  brilliant  series  of  essays  on  life 
and  literature  in  the  '  Cornhill  Magazine '  which  were  afterwards 
collected  with  others  in  the  volumes  called  severally  'Virginibus 
Puerisque '  and  '  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books.'  They  were 
continued  in  1877,  and  in  greater  number  throughout  1878.  His 
first  published  stories  were:  'A  Lodging  for  the  Night'  (Temple 
Bar,  October  1877) ;  '  The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door'  (Temple  Bar, 
January  1878);  and  'Will  o'  the  Mill'  (Cornhill  Magazine, 
January  1878). 

The  year  1878  was  to  Stevenson  one  of  great  productiveness. 
In  May  was  issued  his  first  book, '  The  Inland  Voyage,'  containing 
the  account  of  his  canoe  trip,  and  written  in  a  pleasant  fanciful 
vein  of  humour  and  reflection,  but  with  the  style  a  little  over- 
mannered.  Besides  six  or  eight  characteristic  essays  of  the 
'  Virginibus  Puerisque '  series,  there  appeared  in  '  London '  (edited 
by  Mr.  Henley)  the  set  of  fantastic  modern  tales  called  thr  '  New 
Arabian  Nights,'  conceived  in  a  very  spirited  and  entertaining 
vein  of  the  realistic-unreal,  as  well  as  the  story  of  '  Providence  and 
the  Guitar;'  and  in  the  'Portfolio'  the  'Picturesque  Notes  on 
Edinburgh,'  republished  at  the  end  of  the  year  in  book  form. 
During  the  autumn  and  winter  of  this  year  he  wrote  '  Travels  with 
a  Donkey  in  the  Cevennes,'  and  was  much  engaged  in  the  planning 
of  plays  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Henley,  of  which  one,  '  Deacon 


THE  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          629 

Brodie,'  was  finished  in  the  spring  of  1879.  This  was  also  the  date 
of  the  essay  '  On  some  Aspects  of  Burns.'  In  the  same  spring  he 
drafted  in  Edinburgh,  but  afterwards  laid  by,  four  chapters  on 
ethics  (a  study  to  which  he  once  referred  as  being  always  his 
'veiled  mistress')  under  the  name  of  'Lay  Morals.'  In  few  men 
have  the  faculties  been  so  active  on  the  artistic  and  the  ethical  sides 
at  once,  and  this  fragment  is  of  especial  interest  in  the  study  of  its 
author's  mind  and  character. 

By  his  various  published  writings  Stevenson  had  made  little- 
impression  as  yet  on  the  general  reader.  But  the  critical  had 
recognised  in  him  a  new  artist  of  the  first  promise  in  English  letters, 
who  aimed  at,  and  often  achieved,  those  qualities  of  sustained 
precision,  lucidity,  and  grace  of  style  which  are  characteristic  of 
the  best  French  prose,  but  in  English  rare  in  the  extreme.  He  had 
known  how  to  stamp  all  he  wrote  with  the  impress  of  a  vivid 
personal  charm ;  had  shown  himself  a  master  of  the  apt  and  ani- 
mated phrase ;  and  whether  in  tale  or  parable,  essay  or  wayside 
musing,  had  touched  on  vital  points  of  experience  and  feeling 
with  the  observation  and  insight  of  a  true  poet  and  humourist. 

The  year  1879  was  a  critical  one  in  Stevenson's  life.  In  France 
he  had  met  an  American  lady,  Mrs.  Osbourne  (nee  Van  de  Grift), 
whose  domestic  circumstances  were  not  fortunate,  and  who  was 
living  with  her  daughter  and  young  son  in  the  art-student  circles  of 
Paris  and  Fontainebleau.  At  the  beginning  of  1879  she  returned 
to  California.  In  June  Stevenson  determined  to  follow.  He 
travelled  by  emigrant  ship  and  train,  partly  for  economy,  partly 
for  the  sake  of  the  experience.  The  journey  and  its  discomforts 
proved  disastrous  to  his  health,  but  did  not  interrupt  his  industry. 
Left  entirely  to  his  own  resources,  he  stayed  for  eight  months 
partly  at  Monterey  and  partly  at  San  Francisco.  During  a  part  of 
these  months  he  was  at  death's  door  from  a  complication  of  pleurisy, 
malarial  fever,  and  exhaustion  of  the  system,  but  managed  never- 
theless to  write  the  story  of  '  The  Pavilion  on  the  Links/  two  or 
three  essays  for  the  '  Cornhill  Magazine,'  the  greater  part  of  a 
Calif ornian  story,  'A  Vendetta  in  the  West'  (never  published), 
a  first  draft  of  the  romance  of  '  Prince  Otto,'  and  the  two  parts  of 
the  'Amateur  Emigrant'  (not  published  till  some  years  later). 
He  also  tried  to  get  work  on  the  local  press,  and  some  contributions 


630  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

were  printed  in  the  '  Monterey  Independent ; '  but  on  the  whole  his 
style  was  not  thought  up  to  California  standards.  In  the  spring  of 
1880  he  was  married  to  Mrs.  Osbourne,  who  had  obtained  some 
months  before  a  divorce  from  her  husband.  She  nursed  him 
through  the  worst  of  his  illness,  and  in  May  they  went  for  the  sake 
of  health  to  lodge  at  a  deserted  mining  station  above  Calistoga,  in 
the  California  coast  range.  The  story  of  this  sojourn  is  told  in 
the '  Silverado  Squatters.' 

Family  and  friends,  who  had  at  first  opposed  the  marriage, 
being  now  fully  reconciled  to  it,  Stevenson  brought  his  wife  home 
in  August  1880.  She  was  to  him  a  perfect  companion,  taking  part 
keenly  and  critically  in  his  work,  sharing  all  his  gipsy  tastes  and 
love  of  primitive  and  natural  modes  of  life,  and  being,  in  spite  of 
her  own  precarious  health,  the  most  devoted  and  efficient  of  nurses 
in  the  anxious  times  which  now  ensued.  For  the  next  seven  or 
eight  years  his  life  seemed  to  hang  by  a  thread.  Chronic  lung 
disease  had  declared  itself,  and  the  slightest  exposure  or  exertion 
was  apt  to  bring  on  a  prostrating  attack  of  cough,  haemorrhage,  and 
fever.  The  trial  was  manfully  borne;  and  in  every  interval  of 
respite  he  worked  in  unremitting  pursuit  of  the  standards  he  had 
set  before  himself. 

Between  1880  and  1887  he  lived  the  life  of  an  invalid,  vainly 
seeking  relief  by  change  of  place.  After  spending  six  weeks 
(August  and  September  1880)  with  his  parents  at  Blair  Athol 
and  Strathpeffer,  he  went  in  October,  with  his  wife  and  stepson, 
to  winter  at  Davos,  where  he  made  fast  friends  with  John  Adding- 
ton  Symonds  (1840-93)  and  his  family.  He  wrote  little,  but 
prepared  for  press  the  collected  essays  'Virginibus  Puerisque,' 
in  which  he  preaches  with  captivating  vigour  and  grace  his  gospel 
of  youth,  courage,  and  a  contempt  for  the  timidities  and  petty 
respectabilities  of  life.  For  the  rest,  he  amused  himself  with 
verses  playful  and  other,  and  with  supplying  humorous  text  and 
cuts  ('Moral  Emblems,'  'Not  I,'  &c.)  for  a  little  private  press 
worked  by  his  young  stepson.  Returning  to  Scotland  at  the  end 
of  May  with  health  somewhat  improved,  he  spent  four  months  with 
his  parents  at  Pitlochry  and  Braemar.  At  Pitlochry  he  wrote 
'  Thrawn  Janet '  and  the  chief  part  of  *  The  Merry  Men,'  two  of  the 
strongest  short  tales  in  Scottish  literature,  the  one  of  Satanic 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          631 

possession,  the  other  of  a  conscience  and  imagination  haunted,  to 
the  overthrow  of  reason,  by  the  terrors  of  the  sea.  At  Braemar 
he  began  'Treasure  Island,'  his  father  helping  with  suggestions 
and  reminiscences  from  his  own  seafaring  experiences.  At  the 
suggestion  of  Mr.  A.  H.  Japp,  the  story  was  offered  to,  and  ac- 
cepted by,  the  editor  (Mr.  Henderson)  of  a  boys'  periodical  called 
'Young  Folks.'  In  the  meantime  (August  1881)  Stevenson  had 
been  a  candidate  for  the  vacant  chair  of  history  and  constitutional 
law  at  Edinburgh.  In  the  light  of  such  public  reputation  as  he  yet 
possessed,  the  candidature  must  have  seemed  paradoxical ;  but  it 
was  encouraged  by  competent  advisers,  including  the  retiring  pro- 
fessor, Dr.  /Eneas  Mackay.  It  failed.  Had  it  succeeded,  his 
health  would  almost  certainly  have  proved  unequal  to  the  work. 
A  cold  and  wet  season  at  Braemar  did  him  much  harm ;  and  in 
October  he  was  ordered  to  spend  a  second  winter  (1881-2)  at  Davos. 
He  here  finished  the  tale  of  'Treasure  Island,'  began,  on  the 
suggestion  of  Mr.  George  Bentley,  a  life  (never  completed)  of 
William  Hazlitt,  and  prepared  for  press  the  collection  of  literary 
essays  '  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books.' 

In  the  summer  of  1882  he  again  tried  Scotland  (Stobo  Manse 
in  Upper  Tweedale,  Lochearnhead,  and  Kingussie),  and  again 
with  bad  results  for  his  health.  As  his  wife  was  never  well  at 
Davos,  they  determined  to  winter  in  the  south,  and  settled  before 
Christmas  in  a  cottage  near  Marseilles  (Campagne  Defli,  St. 
Marcel) .  Thence  being  presently  driven  by  a  fever  epidemic,  they 
moved  in  January  1883  to  a  chalet  in  a  pleasant  garden  on  a  hill 
behind  Hyeres  (Chalet  la  Solitude).  Here  Stevenson  enjoyed  a 
respite  of  nearly  a  year  from  acute  illness,  as  well  as  the  first  breath 
of  popular  success  on  the  publication  in  book  form  of  '  Treasure 
Island.'  In  this  story  the  force  of  invention  and  vividness  of 
narrative  appealed  to  every  reader,  including  those  on  whom  its 
other  qualities  of  style  and  character-drawing  would  in  themselves 
have  been  thrown  away ;  and  it  has  taken  its  place  in  literature  as  a 
classic  story  of  pirate  and  mutineer  adventure.  It  has  been  trans- 
lated into  French,  Spanish,  and  other  languages.  Partly  at  Mar- 
seilles and  partly  at  Hyeres  he  wrote  the  '  Treasure  of  Franchard,' 
a  pleasant  and  ingenious  tale  of  French  provincial  life ;  and  early 
in  1883  completed  for  'Young  Folks'  a  second  boys'  tale,  'The 


632  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

Black  Arrow.'  This  story  of  the  wars  of  the  Roses,  written  in  a 
style  founded  on  the  '  Paston  Letters,'  was  preferred  to  '  Treasure 
Island '  by  the  audience  to  whom  it  was  first  addressed,  but  failed 
to  please  the  critics  when  published  in  book  form  five  years  later, 
and  was  no  favourite  with  its  author.  Stevenson's  other  work  at 
Hyeres  consisted  of  verses  for  the  '  Child's  Garden ; '  essays  for  the 
'Cornhill  Magazine'  and  the  'Magazine  of  Art'  (edited  by  Mr. 
Henley);  the  'Silverado  Squatters,'  first  drafted  in  1880,  and 
finally  'Prince  Otto.'  In  this  tale  of  fantasy,  certain  problems  of 
character  and  conjugal  relation  which  had  occupied  him  ever 
since  his  boyish  tragedy  of  'Semiramis'  are  worked  out  with  a 
lively  play  of  intellect  and  humour,  and  (as  some  think)  an  exces- 
sive refinement  and  research  of  style,  on  a  stage  of  German  court 
life  and  with  a  delightful  background  of  German  forest  scenery. 
The  book,  never  very  popular,  is  one  of  those  most  characteristic  of 
his  mind.  It  was  translated  into  French  in  1896  by  Mr.  Egerton 
Castle. 

In  September  1883  Stevenson  suffered  a  great  loss  in  the  death 
of  his  old  friend  Mr.  James  Walter  Ferrier  (see  the  essay  Old 
Mortality).  In  the  beginning  of  1884  his  hopes  and  spirits  were 
rudely  dashed  by  two  dangerous  attacks  of  illness,  the  first  occur- 
ring at  Nice  in  January,  the  second  at  Hyeres  in  May.  Travelling 
slowly  homewards  by  way  of  Royat,  he  arrived  in  England  in 
July  in  an  almost  prostrate  condition,  and  in  September  settled 
at  Bournemouth.  In  the  autumn  and  early  winter  his  quarters 
were  at  Bonallie  Tower,  Branksome  Park;  in  February  1885  his 
father  bought  and  gave  him  the  house  at  Westbourne  which  he 
called  (after  the  famous  lighthouse  designed  by  his  uncle  Alan) 
Skerryvore.  This  was  for  the  next  two  years  and  a  half  his  home. 
His  health,  and  on  the  whole  his  spirits,  remained  on  a  lower  plane 
than  before,  and  he  was  never  free  for  many  weeks  together  from 
fits  of  haemorrhage  and  prostration.  Nevertheless  he  was  able 
to  form  new  friendships  and  to  do  some  of  the  best  work  of  his  life. 

In  1885  he  finished  for  publication  two  books  which  his  illness 
had  interrupted,  the  '  Child's  Garden  of  Verses '  and  '  Prince 
Otto,'  and  began  a  highway  romance  called  'The  Great  North 
Road,'  but  relinquished  it  in  order  to  write  a  second  series  of  '  New 
Arabian  Nights.'  These  new  tales  hinge  about  the  Fenian  dyna- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          633 

mite  conspiracies,  of  which  the  public  mind  was  at  this  time  full, 
and  to  the  old  elements  of  fantastic  realism  add  a  new  element  of 
witty  and  scornful  criminal  psychology.  The  incidental  stories  of 
'The  Destroying  Angel'  and  'The  Fair  Cuban'  were  supplied  by 
Mrs.  Stevenson.  During  the  same  period  he  wrote  several  of  the 
personal  and  literary  essays  afterwards  collected  in  the  volume 
'  Memories  and  Portraits ; '  a  succession  of  Christmas  stories, 
'The  Body  Snatcher'  in  the  'Pall  Mall  Gazette,'  1884; '  Olalla'  in 
the  '  Court  and  Society  Review,'  and  '  The  Misadventures  of  John 
Nicholson'  in  'Cassell's  Christmas  Annual,'  both  for  1885; 
and  'Markheim'  in  'Unwin's  Christmas  Annual,'  1886;  as  well 
as  several  plays  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Henley,  viz.  'Beau 
Austin,' '  Admiral  Guinea,'  and '  Robert  Macaire.'  Stevenson,  like 
almost  every  other  imaginative  writer,  had  built  hopes  of  gain 
upon  dramatic  work.  His  money  needs,  in  spite  of  help  from  his 
father,  were  still  somewhat  pressing.  Until  1886  he  had  never 
earned  much  more  than  3oo/.  a  year  by  his  pen.  But  in  that  year 
came  two  successes  which  greatly  increased  his  reputation,  and 
with  it  his  power  to  earn.  These  were  '  The  Strange  Case  of  Dr. 
Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde'  and  'Kidnapped.'  The  former,  founded 
partly  on  a  dream,  is  a  striking  apologue  of  the  double  life  of  man. 
Published  as  a  'shilling  shocker,'  a  form  at  that  time  in  fashion,  it 
became  instantly  popular;  was  quoted  from  a  thousand  pulpits; 
was  translated  into  German,  French,  and  Danish;  and  the  names 
of  its  two  chief  characters  have  passed  into  the  common  stock  of 
proverbial  allusion.  In  'Kidnapped'  —a  boys'  highland  story 
suggested  by  the  historical  incident  of  the  Appin  murder  —  the 
adventures  are  scarcely  less  exciting  than  those  of  'Treasure 
Island,'  the  elements  of  character-drawing  subtler  and  farther 
carried,  while  the  romance  of  history,  and  the  sentiment  of  the 
soil  are  expressed  as  they  had  hardly  been  expressed  since  Scott. 
The  success  of  these  two  tales,  both  with  the  critics  and  the  public, 
established  Stevenson's  position  at  the  head  of  the  younger 
English  writers  of  his  day,  among  whom  his  example  encouraged 
an  increased  general  attention  to  technical  qualities  of  style  and 
workmanship,  as  well  as  a  reaction  in  favour  of  the  novel  of  action 
and  romance  against  the  more  analytic  and  less  stimulating  types 
of  fiction  then  prevailing. 


634  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

About  this  time  Stevenson  was  occupied  with  studies  for  a  short 
book  on  Wellington  (after  Gordon  his  favourite  hero),  intended 
for  a  series  edited  by  Mr.  Andrew  Lang.  This  was  never  written, 
and  in  the  winter  and  spring  of  1886-7  m's  chief  task  was  one  of 
piety  to  a  friend,  viz.  the  writing  of  a  life  of  Fleeming  Jenkin  from 
materials  supplied  by  the  widow.  In  the  spring  of  1887  he  pub- 
lished, under  the  title  'Underwoods'  (borrowed  from  Ben  Jonson), 
a  collection  of  verses,  partly  English  and  partly  Scottish,  selected 
from  the  chance  production  of  a  good  many  years.  Stevenson's 
poetry,  written  chiefly  when  he  was  too  tired  to  write  anything  else, 
expresses  as  a  rule  the  charm  and  power  of  his  nature  with  a  more 
slippered  grace,  a  far  less  studious  and  perfect  art,  than  his  prose. 
He  also  prepared  for  publication  in  1887,  under  the  title '  Memories 
and  Portraits,'  a  collection  of  essays  personal  and  other,  including 
an  effective  exposition  of  his  own  theories  of  romance,  which  he  had 
contributed  to  various  periodicals  during  preceding  years. 

His  father's  death  in  May  1887  broke  the  strongest  tie  which 
bound  him  to  this  country.  His  own  health  showed  no  signs 
of  improvement;  and  the  doctors,  as  a  last  chance  of  recovery, 
recommended  some  complete  change  of  climate  and  mode  of  life. 
His  wife's  connections  pointing  to  the  west,  he  thought  of  Colorado, 
persuaded  his  mother  to  join  them,  and  with  his  whole  household  — 
mother,  wife,  and  stepson  —  sailed  for  New  York  on  17  Aug.  1887. 
After  a  short  stay  under  the  hospitable  care  of  friends  at  Newport, 
he  was  persuaded,  instead  of  going  farther  west,  to  try  the  climate 
of  the  Adirondack  mountains  for  the  winter.  At  the  beginning  of 
October  the  family  moved  accordingly  to  a  house  on  Saranac  Lake, 
and  remained  there  until  April  1888.  Here  he  wrote  for'Scrib- 
ner's  Magazine'  a  series  of  twelve  essays  (published  January- 
December  1888  and  partly  reprinted  in  'Across  the  Plains'). 
Some  of  these  ('  Dreams,' '  Lantern  Bearers,' '  Random  Memories ') 
contain  his  best  work  in  the  mixed  vein  of  autobiography  and 
criticism;  others  ('Pulvis  et  Umbra,'  'A  Christmas  Sermon')  his 
strongest,  if  not  his  most  buoyant  or  inspiriting,  in  the  ethical  vein. 
For  the  same  publishers  he  also  wrote  the  ballad  of  '  Ticonderoga ' 
and  began  the  romance  of  '  The  Master  of  Ballantrae,'  of  which 
the  scene  is  partly  laid  in  the  country  of  his  winter  sojourn.  This 
tragic  story  of  fraternal  hate  is  thought  by  many  to  take  the  first 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          635 

place  among  its  author's  romances,  alike  by  vividness  of  present- 
ment and  by  psychologic  insight.  In  April  Stevenson  came  to 
New  York,  but,  soon  wearying  of  the  city,  went  for  some  weeks' 
boating  to  Manasquan  on  the  New  Jersey  coast.  At  this  time 
(March-May  1888),  by  way  of  '  a  little  judicious  levity,'  he  revised 
and  partly  rewrote  a  farcical  story  drafted  in  the  winter  by  his 
stepson,  Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne,  'The  Wrong  Box,'  which  was  pub- 
lished in  the  course  of  the  year  under  their  joint  names.  The  fact 
that  the  farce  turns  on  the  misadventures  of  a  corpse  caused  most 
readers  to  think  the  levity  more  apparent  than  the  judgment; 
but  the  book  cannot  be  read  without  laughter. 

In  the  meantime  the  family  had  entertained  the  idea  of  a 
yachting  excursion  in  the  South  Seas.  The  romance  of  the  Pacific 
had  attracted  Stevenson  from  a  boy.  The  enterprise  held  out 
hopes  of  relief  to  his  health ;  an  American  publisher  (Mr.  S.  S. 
McClure)  provided  the  means  of  undertaking  it  by  an  offer  of 
2,ooo/.  for  letters  in  which  its  course  should  be  narrated.  The 
result  was  that  on  26  June  1888  the  whole  family  set  out  from 
San  Francisco  on  board  the  schooner  yacht  Casco  (Captain 
Otis).  They  first  sailed  to  the  Marquesas,  where  they  spent  six 
weeks;  thence  to  the  Paumotus  or  Dangerous  Archipelago; 
thence  to  the  Tahitian  group,  where  they  again  rested  for  several 
weeks,  and  whence  they  sailed  northward  for  Hawaii.  Arriving 
at  Honolulu  about  the  new  year  of  1889,  they  made  a  stay  of 
nearly  six  months,  during  which  Stevenson  made  several  excur- 
sions, including  one,  which  profoundly  impressed  him,  to  the 
leper  settlement  at  Molokai.  His  journey  so  far  having  proved 
a  source  of  infinite  interest  and  enjoyment,  as  well  as  greatly  im- 
proved health,  Stevenson  determined  to  prolong  it.  He  and  his 
party  started  afresh  from  Honolulu  in  June  1889  on  a  rough 
trading  schooner,  the  Equator.  Their  destination  was  the 
Gilberts,  a  remote  coral  group  in  the  western  Pacific.  At  two  of 
its  petty  capitals,  Apemama  and  Butaritari,  they  made  stays  of 
about  six  weeks  each,  and  at  Christmas  1889  found  their  way 
again  into  semi-civilization  at  Apia  in  the  Samoan  group.  After 
a  month  or  two's  stay  in  Samoa,  where  the  beauty  of  the  scenery 
and  the  charm  of  the  native  population  delighted  them,  the  party 
went  on  to  Sydney,  where  Stevenson  immediately  fell  ill,  the  life 


636  SIDNEY   COLVIN 

of  the  city  seeming  to  undo  the  good  he  had  got  at  sea.  This 
experience  set  him  voyaging  again,  and  determined  him  to  make 
his  home  in  the  South  Seas.  In  April  1890  a  fresh  start  was 
made,  this  time  on  a  trading  steamer,  the  Janet  Nicoll.  Touching 
first  at  Samoa,  where  he  had  bought  a  property  of  about  four  hun- 
dred acres  on  the  mountain  above  Apia,  to  which  he  gave  the  name 
Vailima  (five  rivers),  he  left  instructions  for  clearing  and  building 
operations  to  be  begun  while  he  continued  his  voyage.  The  course 
of  the  Janet  Nicoll  took  him  during  the  summer  to  many  remote 
islands,  from  Penhryn  to  the  Marshalls,  and  landed  him  in  Septem- 
ber in  New  Caledonia.  Returning  the  same  month  to  Samoa,  he 
found  the  small  house  already  existing  at  Vailima  to  be  roughly 
habitable,  and  installed  himself  there  to  superintend  the  further 
operations  of  clearing,  planting,  and  building.  The  family  be- 
longings from  Bournemouth  were  sent  out,  and  his  mother,  who 
had  left  him  at  Honolulu,  rejoined  him  at  Vailima  in  the  spring  of 
1891. 

During  these  Pacific  voyages  he  had  finished  the  'Master  of 
Ballantrae,'  besides  writing  many  occasional  verses,  and  two  long, 
not  very  effective,  ballads  on  themes  of  Polynesian  legend,  the '  Song 
of  Rahero'  and  the  '  Feast  of  Famine.'  He  had  also  planned  and 
begun  at  sea,  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne,  his  one 
attempt  at  a  long  and  sustained  story  of  modern  life, '  The  Wrecker/ 
At  Samoa  he  had  written  the  first  of  his  Pacific  stories  in  prose, 
'  The  Bottle  Imp.'  This  little  tale  of  morals  and  of  magic  appealed 
strongly  to  the  native  readers  to  whom  (in  a  missionary  translation) 
it  was  first  addressed  (published  in  English  in  'Black  and  White,' 
1891,  and  reprinted  in  'Island  Nights'  Entertainments').  At 
Sydney  he  had  written  in  a  heat  of  indignation,  and  published  in 
pamphlet  form,  the  striking  ' Letter  to  Dr.  Hyde'  in  vindication  of 
the  memory  of  Father  Damien.  Lastly,  on  board  the  Janet  Nicoll, 
'  under  the  most  ungodly  circumstances,'  he  had  begun  the  work 
of  composing  the  letters  relating  his  travels,  which  were  due  under 
the  original  contract  to  the  Messrs.  McClure.  This  and  'The 
Wrecker'  were  the  two  tasks  unfinished  on  his  hands  when  he 
entered  (November  1890)  on  the  four  years'  residence  at  Vailima 
which  forms  the  closing  period  of  his  life. 

In  his  new  Samoan  home  Stevenson  soon  began  to  exercise  a 


THE  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          637 

hospitality  and  an  influence  which  increased  with  every  year. 
Among  the  natives  he  was  known  by  the  name  of  Tusitala  (teller 
of  tales),  and  was  supposed  to  be  master  of  an  inexhaustible  store  of 
wealth,  perhaps  even  to  be  the  holder  of  the  magic  bottle  of  his  own 
tale.  He  gathered  about  him  a  kind  of  feudal  clan  of  servants  and 
retainers,  whom  he  ruled  in  a  spirit  of  affectionate  kindness  tem- 
pered with  firm  justice;  and  presently  got  drawn,  as  a  man  so 
forward  in  action  and  so  impatient  of  injustice  could  not  fail  to  do, 
into  the  entanglements  of  local  politics  and  government.  In  health 
he  seemed  to  have  become  a  new  man.  Frail  in  comparison  with 
the  strong,  he  was  yet  able  to  ride  and  boat  with  little  restriction,  and 
to  take  part  freely  in  local  festivities,  both  white  and  native.  The 
chief  interruptions  were  an  occasional  trip  to  Sydney  or  Auckland, 
from  which  he  generally  came  back  the  worse.  From  the  middle 
of  1891  to  the  spring  of  1893  his  intromissions  in  politics  embroiled 
him  more  or  less  seriously  with  most  of  the  white  officials  in  the 
island,  especially  the  chief  justice,  Mr.  Cedercrantz,  and  the 
president  of  the  council,  Baron  Senfft  von  Pilsach.  The  proceed- 
ings of  these  gentlemen  were  exposed  by  him  in  a  series  of  striking 
letters  to  the  'Times,'  and  the  three  treaty  powers  (Germany, 
Great  Britain,  and  the  United  States)  ultimately  decided  to  dispense 
with  their  services.  At  one  period  of  the  struggle  he  believed  him- 
self threatened  with  deportation.  Whether  all  his  own  steps  on 
that  petty  but  extremely  complicated  political  scene  were  judicious 
is  more  than  can  be  said ;  but  impartial  witnesses  agree  that  he  had 
a  considerable  moderating  influence  with  the  natives,  and  that  his 
efforts  were  all  in  the  direction  of  peace  and  concord. 

His  literary  industry  during  these  years  was  more  strenuous 
than  ever.  His  habit  was  to  begin  work  at  six  in  the  morning  or 
earlier,  continue  without  interruption  until  the  midday  meal,  and 
often  to  resume  again  until  four  or  five  in  the  afternoon.  In  addi- 
tion to  his  literary  labours  he  kept  up  an  active  correspondence 
both  with  old  friends  and  new  acquaintances,  especially  with 
writers  of  the  younger  generation  in  England,  who  had  been  drawn 
to  him  either  by  admiration  for  his  work  or  by  his  ever  ready  and 
generous  recognition  of  their  own.  He  had  suffered  for  some  time 
from  scrivener's  cramp,  and  in  the  last  three  years  of  his  life  was 
much  helped  by  the  affectionate  services  as  amanuensis  of  his 


638  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

stepdaughter,  Mrs.  Strong,  who  had  become  a  member  of  the 
household  since  1889.  In  1894  the  plan  devised  by  his  business 
adviser  and  lifelong  friend,  Mr.  Charles  Baxter,  of  a  limited 
edition  de  luxe  of  his  collected  works,  under  the  title  of  the  '  Edin- 
burgh Edition,'  afforded  him  much  pleasure,  together  with  a  pros- 
pect of  considerable  gain.  This  experiment,  without  precedent 
during  the  lifetime  of  an  author,  proved  a  great  success,  but  Steven- 
son did  not  live  long  enough  to  enjoy  the  opportunity  of  rest 
which  its  results  were  calculated  to  bring  him. 

Of  his  writings  during  the  Samoan  period,  'The  Wrecker' 
was  finished  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne  in  the* 
winter  1890-1.  Throughout  1891  he  had  a  heavy  task  with  the 
promised  letters  relating  his  Pacific  voyages.  Work  undertaken  to 
order  seldom  prospered  with  him,  and  these  'Letters,'  having  cost 
him  more  labour  than  anything  he  ever  wrote,  have  less  of  his 
characteristic  charm,  despite  the  interest  and  strangeness  of  the 
matters  of  which  they  tell.  They  were  published  periodically 
in  the  New  York '  Sun '  and  in '  Black  and  White,'  and  have  been  in 
part  reprinted  in  the  '  Edinburgh  Edition.'  A  far  more  effective 
result  of  his  South  Sea  experiences  is  the  tale  of  the  'Beach  of 
Falesa,'  written  in  the  same  year  and  first  published  under  the 
title  '  Uma '  in  the  '  Illustrated  London  News '  (reprinted  in  '  Island 
Nights'  Entertainments').  In  1892  he  was  much  occupied  with  a 
task  from  which  he  could  expect  neither  fame  nor  profit,  but  to 
which  he  was  urged  by  a  sense  of  duty  and  the  hope  of  influencing 
the  treaty  powers  in  favour  of  what  he  thought  a  wiser  policy  in 
Samoa.  This  was  the  '  Footnote  to  History,'  an  account,  composed 
with  an  intentional  plainness  of  style,  of  the  intricate  local  politics 
of  the  preceding  years,  including  a  description  of  the  famous  hurri- 
cane of  1888.  The  same  spring  (1892)  he  took  up  again,  after  six 
years,  the  unfinished  history  of  David  Balfour  at  the  point  where 
ill-health  had  compelled  him  to  break  it  off  in  'Kidnapped.' 
This  sequel  (published  first  in  '  Atalanta '  under  the  title  '  David 
Balfour,'  and  then  in  book  form  as '  Catriona ')  contains  some  of  the 
author's  best  work,  especially  in  the  closing  scenes  at  Leyden  and 
Dunkerque.  The  comedy  of  the  boy  and  girl  passion  has  been 
hardly  anywhere  more  glowingly  or  more  delicately  expressed.  In 
the  same  year  (1892)  was  published  'Across  the  Plains/  a  volume 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          639 

of  collected  essays,  to  which  was  prefixed  the  account  of  his  emi- 
grant journey  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco,  much  revised 
and  compressed  from  the  original  draft  of  1879 ;  and  in  the  spring 
of  1893  'Island  Nights'  Entertainments/  containing  with  'The 
Beach  of  Falesa,'  and  '  The  Bottle  Imp,'  a  new  tale  of  magic, 
'The  Isle  of  Voices,'  first  published  in  the  'National  Observer.' 
In  the  same  year  (1892)  Stevenson  made  beginnings  on  a 
great  variety  of  new  work,  some  of  it  inspired  by  his  Pacific 
experiences,  and  some  by  the  memories  and  associations  of 
Scotland,  the  power  of  which  on  his  mind  seemed  only  to  be  in- 
tensified by  exile.  To  the  former  class  belonged  'Sophia  Scarlet,' 
a  sentimental  novel  of  planters'  life  in  the  South  Seas,  and  '  The 
Ebb-Tide,'  a  darker  story  of  South  Sea  crime  and  adventure, 
planned  some  time  before  under  the  title  of  the  'Pearl- Fisher'  in 
collaboration  with  Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne.  Of  the  latter  class  were 
'  Heathercat,'  a  tale  of  covenanting  times  and  of  the  Darien  adven- 
ture ;  '  The  Young  Chevalier,'  an  historical  romance  partly  founded 
on  facts  supplied  to  him  by  Mr.  Andrew  Lang ;  '  Weir  of  Hermis- 
ton,'  a  tragic  story  of  the  Scottish  border,  in  which  the  chief  charac- 
ter was  founded  on  that  of  the  famous  judge  Lord  Braxfield; 
and  'A  Family  of  Engineers,'  being  an  account  of  the  lives  and 
work  of  his  grandfather,  uncles,  and  father.  Some  progress  had 
been  made  with  all  these  when  a  fit  of  influenza  in  January  1893 
diverted  him  to  a  lighter  task,  that  of  dictating  (partly,  when  for- 
bidden to  speak,  in  the  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet)  a  tale  of  manners 
and  the  road  called  'St.  Ives,'  dealing  with  the  escape  from  Edin- 
burgh Castle  and  subsequent  adventures  of  a  French  prisoner  of 
war  in  1814.  Of  these  various  writings,  the  '  Ebb-Tide '  was  alone 
completed;  it  was  published  in  'To-day,'  November  1893  to 
January  1894,  and  in  book  form  in  September  1894.  The  family 
history  was  carried  as  far  as  the  construction  of  the  Bell  Rock 
lighthouse.  'Sophia  Scarlet,'  'Heathercat,'  and  the  'Young 
Chevalier'  never  got  beyond  a  chapter  or  two  each.  'St.  Ives' 
had  been  brought  to  within  a  little  of  completion  when  the  author, 
feeling  himself  getting  out  of  vein  with  it,  turned  again  to  '  Weir  of 
Hermiston.'  This,  so  far  as  it  goes,  is  his  strongest  work.  The 
few  chapters  which  he  lived  to  complete,  taken  as  separate  blocks 
of  narrative  and  character  presentment,  are  of  the  highest  imagina- 
tive and  emotional  power. 


640  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

Despite  the  habitual  gaiety  which  Stevenson  had  continued  to 
show  before  his  family  and  friends,  and  his  expressed  confidence 
in  his  own  improved  health,  there  had  not  been  wanting  in  his 
later  correspondence  from  Vailima  signs  of  inward  despondency 
and  distress.  At  moments,  even,  it  is  evident  that  he  himself 
had  presentiments  that  the  end  was  near.  It  came  in  such  a  manner 
as  he  would  himself  have  wished.  On  the  afternoon  of  4  Dec.  1894, 
he  was  talking  gaily  with  his  wife,  when  the  sudden  rupture  of  a 
blood-vessel  in  the  brain  laid  him  at  her  feet,  and  within  two  hours 
all  was  over.  The  next  day  he  was  buried  on  a  romantic  site  of 
his  own  selection,  whither  it  took  the  zealous  toil  of  sixty  natives 
to  cut  a  path  and  carry  him,  on  a  peak  of  the  forest-clad  Mount 
Vaea. 

The  romance  of  Stevenson's  life  and  the  attraction  of  his 
character  procured  for  him  a  degree  of  fame  and  affection  dispro- 
portionate to  the  numerical  circulation  of  his  works.  In  this  point 
he  was  much  outstripped  by  several  of  his  contemporaries.  But 
few  writers  have  during  their  lifetime  commanded  so  much  ad- 
miration and  regard  from  their  fellow-craftsmen.  To  attain  the 
mastery  of  an  elastic  and  harmonious  English  prose,  in  which 
trite  and  inanimate  elements  should  have  no  place,  and  which 
should  be  supple  to  all  uses  and  alive  in  all  its  joints  and  members, 
was  an  aim  which  he  pursued  with  ungrudging,  even  with  heroic, 
toil.  Not  always,  especially  not  at  the  beginning,  but  in  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  his  mature  work,  the  effect  of  labour  and  fastidious 
selection  is  lost  in  the  felicity  of  the  result.  Energy  of  vision  goes 
hand  in  hand  with  magic  of  presentment,  and  both  words  and 
things  acquire  new  meaning  and  a  new  vitality  under  his  touch. 
Next  to  finish  and  brilliancy  of  execution,  the  most  remarkable 
quality  of  his  work  is  its  variety.  Without  being  the  inventor 
of  any  new  form  or  mode  of  literary  art  (unless,  indeed,  the 
verses  of  the  'Child's  Garden'  are  to  be  accounted  such),  he 
handled  with  success  and  freshness  nearly  all  the  old  forms  —  the 
moral,  critical,  and  personal  essay,  travels  sentimental  and  other, 
romances  and  short  tales  both  historical  and  modern,  parables 
and  tales  of  mystery,  boys'  stories  of  adventure,  drama,  memoir, 
lyrical  and  meditative  verse  both  English  and  Scottish.  To  some 
of  these  forms  he  gave  quite  new  life:  through  all  alike  he  ex- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON          641 

pressed  vividly  his  own  extremely  personal  way  of  seeing  and  being, 
his  peculiar  sense  of  nature  and  of  romance. 

In  personal  appearance  Stevenson  was  of  good  stature  (about 
5  ft.  10  in.)  and  activity,  but  very  slender,  his  leanness  of  body 
and  limb  (not  of  face)  having  been  throughout  life  abnormal. 
The  head  was  small ;  the  eyes  dark  hazel,  very  wide-set,  intent,  and 
beaming ;  the  face  of  a  long  oval  shape ;  the  expression  rich  and 
animated.  He  had  a  free  and  picturesque  play  of  gesture  and  a 
voice  of  full  and  manly  fibre,  in  which  his  pulmonary  weakness  was 
not  at  all  betrayed.  The  features  are  familiar  from  many  photo- 
graphs and  cuts.  There  exist  also  two  small  full-length  portraits 
by  Mr.  John  S.  Sargent  —  one  in  the  possession  of  the  family,  the 
other  of  Mr.  Fairchild  of  Newport,  U.S.A. ;  an  oil  sketch,  done  in 
one  sitting,  by  Sir  W.  B.  Richmond,  now  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery;  a  drawing  from  life,  by  an  American  artist,  Mr.  Alex- 
ander; a  large  medallion  portrait  in  bronze,  in  some  respects 
excellent,  by  Mr.  A.  St.  Gaudens  of  New  York;  and  a  portrait 
painted  in  1893  at  Samoa  by  Signer  Nerli,  now  in  private  posses- 
sion in  Scotland. 

His  published  writings,  in  book  and  pamphlet  form,  are  as 
follows:  i.  'The  Pentland  Rising,  a  Page  of  History,  1666' 
(pamphlet),  1866.  2.  'An  Appeal  to  the  Church  of  Scotland' 
(pamphlet),  1875.  3.  'An  Inland  Voyage,'  1878.  4.  'Picturesque 
Notes  on  Edinburgh,'  1879.  5.  'Travels  with  a  Donkey  in  the 
Cevennes,' 1879.  6-  '  Virginibus  Puerisque,'  1881.  7.  'Familiar 
Studies  of  Men  and  Books,'  1882.  8.  'Treasure  Island,'  1882. 
9.  'New  Arabian  Nights,'  1882.  10.  ' The  Silverado  Squatters,' 
1883.  ii.  'Prince  Otto,'  1885.  12.  'The  Child's  Garden  of 
Verses,' 1885.  13.  'More  New  Arabian  Nights:  the  Dynamiter,' 

1885.  14.   'The  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde,' 

1886.  15.  'Kidnapped,'  1886.     16.  'The  Merry  Men  and  other 
Tales,'    1886.     17.   'Underwoods,'    1887.     18.   'Memories    and 
Portraits,'  1887.     19.   'Memoir  of  Fleeming  Jenkin'  (prefixed  to 
'Papers  of  Fleeming  Jenkin,'  2  vols.),   1887.     20.   'The  Black 
Arrow,'  1888.     21.   'The  Wrong  Box'  (in  collaboration  with  Mr. 
Lloyd  Osbourne),  1888.     22.   'The  Master  of  Ballantrae,'  1889. 
23.    'Ballads,'    1890.     24.   'Father  Damien:    an   Open  Letter' 
(pamphlet),   1890.      25.   'The   Wrecker'    (in  collaboration  with 

2T 


642  SIDNEY  COLVIN 

Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne),  1892.  26.  'Across  the  Plains,'  1892. 
27.  'A  Footnote  to  History,' 1893.  28.  '  Island  Nights'  Entertain- 
ments,' 1893.  29.  '  Catriona'  (being  the  sequel  to  '  Kidnapped'), 
1893.  30.  'The  Ebb-Tide'  (in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Lloyd 
Osbourne),  1894.  The  above  were  published  during  his  lifetime; 
the  following  have  appeared  posthumously :  31.'  Vailima  Letters,' 
1895.  32.  'Fables'  (appended  to  a  new  edition  of  'Jekyll  and 
Hyde'),  1896.  33.  'Weir  of  Hermiston,'  1896.  34.  'Songs  of 
Travel,'  1896.  35.  'St.  Ives,'  with  the  final  chapters  supplied  by 
Mr.  A.  T.  Quiller  Couch,  1897.  All  the  above  have  been  re- 
printed in  the  limited  'Edinburgh  Edition,'  which  also  contains 
the  'Amateur  Emigrant,'  entire  for  the  first  time  (the  title-paper 
of  No.  26,  'Across  the  Plains,'  was  the  second  part  of  this) ;  the 
unfinished  'Family  of  Engineers,'  which  has  not  been  printed 
elsewhere ;  the '  Story  of  a  Lie,'  the '  Misadventures  of  John  Nichol- 
son ; '  and  the  fragmentary  romance,  '  The  Great  North  Road '  - 
all  here  reprinted  from  periodicals  for  the  first  time ;  the  '  South 
Sea  Letters,'  not  elsewhere  reprinted;  as  well  as  'The  Pentland 
Rising,'  'A  Letter  to  the  Church  of  Scotland,'  the  'Edinburgh 
University  Magazine  Essays,'  '  Lay  Morals,'  '  Prayers  written  for 
Family  Use  at  Vailima,'  and  a  number  of  other  papers  and  frag- 
ments, early  and  late,  which  have  not  been  collected  elsewhere. 
The  edition  is  in  twenty-seven  volumes,  of  which  the  first  series  of 
twenty  appeared  15  Nov.  1894-15  June  1896,  and  the  supple- 
mentary series  of  seven  December  i896-February  1898. 


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